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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


PRESENTED  BY 

PROF. CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 

MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/bywaysidesinindiOOfrosrich 


^, 


ADELAIDE  GAIL  FROST 


BY  WAYSIDES 
IN  INDIA 


ADELAIDE  GAIL  FROST 


SECOND    EDITION 


Written  for  the  Christian  Woman's  Board  of  Mis- 
sions in  Memory  of  Hattie  L.  Judson,  Who  Gave 
Her  Life  for  India's  Starving  Village  People 


Copyrighted  1902 

BY  THE 

Christian  Woman  ^s  Board  of  Missions 
Indianapolis^  Ind. 


THE  restless  millions  wait 
That  Light,   whose   dawning  maketh  all 
things  new. 
Christ  also  waits,  but  men  are  slow  and  late, 
Have  we  done  what  we  could?    Have  I?    Have 
you? 
A  cloud  of  witnesses  above  encompass  us. 

We  love  to  think  of  all  they  see  and  know; 
But  what  of  this  great  multitude  in  peril, 

Who  sadly  wait  below? 
Oh,  let  this  thrilling  vision  daily  move  us 

To  earnest  prayers  and  deeds  before  unknown, 
That  souls  redeemed  from  many  lands  may  join  us, 
When  Christ  brings  Home  His  own." 


By  Waysides  in  India. 


Part  I. 

CREAK,  CREAK,  CREAK,  went  the  bul- 
lock-cart as  it  rolled  slowly  over  the  mili- 
tary road  between  two  large  stations  in 
Hindustan.  ''I  do  not  understand  why  we  are 
riding  in  this  vehicle  over  such  a  beautifully 
smooth  road,"  said  a  bright-faced  young  woman 
who  was  rather  restlessly  changing  her  position 
on  the  straw  in  the  bottom  of  the  cart. 

*  *  But  you  just  wait  until  we  get  onto  the  country 
road,"  her  companion  replied.  "You  see,  my  dear, 
that  this  road  has  been  built  pdkka  (solid)  so  that 
should  there  be  a  necessity  of  marching  soldiers 
rapidly  from  one  military  station  to  the  other,  or 
to  some  point  where  there  was  mutiny  or  trouble, 
it  could  be  done.  The  roads  leading  off  from  this 
to  the  villages  are  quite  different,  as  you  will  see. ' ' 

The  bright  morning  sunshine  filtered  through 
the  tamarind  trees,  whose  shadov»^s  fell  in  lace-like 
patterns  on  the  yellow  road.  The  tamarind  with 
its  fern  frond  leaves  was  mingled  with  the  shining 
foliage  of  the  pipal  tree,  sacred  to  so  many  mil- 
lions of  people.     Ahead  of  them  were  other  carts 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 


and  many  people  walking,  for  it  was  bazaar  day 
in  the  town  of  Jalalpur,  toward  which  the  village 
folk  were  tending.  The  farmers  were  taking  their 
produce  to  market,  the  weavers  their  cloth,  the 
potter  and  basket  maker  their  wares,  and  these 
were  to  be  bartered  and  sold  in  the  street  or  by 
the  roadside.  The  despised  cliamar,  or  worker  in 
leather,  was  passed.  He  carried  some  roughly- 
made  sandals  and  a  bundle  of  ill-smelling  hides. 

''Get  out,  low-born  eater  of  flesh!"  said  a  tall 
young  Hindu  with  the  books  of  a  writer  under  his 
arm.  The  cliamar  shrank  awkwardly  aside.  He 
was  an  out-caste  and  might  kill  and  eat,  while  the 
high-caste  man  might  not  do  this,  lest  he  should 
eat  his  ancestors.  To  this  high-caste  Hindu  there 
was  always  the  possibility  present  that  the  souls  of 
his  great,  great  grandparents  might  have  taken  up 
their  separate  abodes  in  the  cow  or  the  ugly  buf- 
falo, nibbling  the  short  dry  grass  by  the  roadside. 
The  young  man  looked  with  disgust  on  the  burden 
of  the  chamar,  who  passed  on  muttering.  An  old 
man  followed  the  cliamar.  He  wore  no  more 
clothes  than  the  worker  in  leather;  he  looked  no 
cleaner.  About  his  neck  were  strings  of  large 
wooden  beads.  In  his  hand  was  the  brass  lota,  or 
drinking  vessel,  for  he  would  not  drink  from  the 
cup  of  him  of  lower  caste.  His  head  was  bent  and 
he  was  murmuring  over  and  over  again  on  his 
beads,  ^*Bam,  Bam,  Bam!'^ 

''Namaskar/'  saluted  the  young  Hindu  writer, 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 


bowing  low  before  him  and  touching  his  feet  with 
his  hands. 

The  Brahmin  paused,  for  this  scantily  draped 
individual  was  a  holy  man  of  the  highest  caste.  He 
said :  ' '  I  am  on  my  way  to  the  bazaar  in  Jalalpur. 
I  have  visited  many  holy  places  and  bathed  in 
Gunga  Ji  (Ganges)  many  times,  but  I  have  heard 
that  in  Jalalpur  there  is  a  wonderful  light  burning 
in  the  temple  of  Maniyadev  and  I  am  traveling 
thither  to  see  it.'' 

''Yes,  master,  it  never  goes  out.  That  was  a 
true  word,  for  there  it  burns  day  and  night. ' ' 

Two  women,  bearing  baskets  on  their  heads  filled 
with  grains,  went  aside  lest  their  shadows  should 
fall  upon  and  offend  the  Brahmin  gwu.  They 
were  draped  in  coarse  dark-red  cloths  partially 
drawn  over  their  faces.  On  their  arms  were  many 
glass  bracelets,  and  heavy  anklets  were  clasped 
above  their  feet.  It  made  one  shudder  lest  they 
be  bruised  by  these  weighty  ornaments.  Their 
bright  eyes  were  watching  the  cart  with  its  load  of 
strange,  kindly-looking  foreign  women,  as  they 
walked  along  behind,  easily  balancing  the  baskets 
upon  their  heads.  A  tall  man  in  a  yellow  and  red 
gingham  coat,  with  shining  black  hair  surmounted 
by  a  jaunty  cap,  walked  along  with  an  urban  air. 
Behind  him  a  coolie  bore  a  huge  pack  of  cloth,  for 
this  tall  man  was  a  cloth  merchant  from  Ramna- 
gar  on  his  way  to  the  bazaar  in  Jalalpur.  As  the 
cart  passed  he  dropped  his  yard-stick  to  say  with 


8  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

low  bow,  ^^ Salaam,  Mem  Sahib,  Salaam! '^  A  pot- 
ter resented  the  merchant's  salaam,  which  almost 
knocked  some  earthen  jars  from  his  hands.  Be- 
hind the  potter  trotted  his  wife,  with  three  dusky- 
jars,  one  upon  the  other,  balanced  upon  her  head. 
There  was  many  a  woman  bearing  more  than  her 
share  of  the  burden,  walking  obediently  behind 
her  lord  and  master,  never  by  his  side.  From  one 
basket  borne  aloft,  a  little  brown  baby  raised  its 
head  showing  sleepy  brown  eyes,  as  it  clung  to  the 
sides  of  the  basket.  There  were  rude  bales  of  cot- 
ton on  other  heads  and  carts  were  passed  full  of 
grain  bags.  A  child  had  spilled  a  basket  of  vegeta- 
bles in  the  road  and  was  being  upbraided  in  vile 
language  by  a  man  standing  near.  Another  boy 
with  large  white  radishes  in  his  basket  was  laugh- 
ing at  the  scene. 

The  road  turned  off  to  the  village  whither  the 
missionaries  were  bound,  and  became  very  rough. 
In  the  long  rainy  season  great  ruts  had  been  cut 
by  the  wide  wheels  of  rude,  native  carts.  These 
were  not  as  yet  powdered  to  dust.  The  driver  of 
the  cart  was  obliged  to  strike  off  in  different  direc- 
tions across  the  fields  to  avoid  the  worst  places. 
It  was  a  very  slow  and  tiring,  but  comparatively 
safe  mode  of  locomotion.  The  young  missionary 
wondered  if  that  clump  of  trees  rising  so  suddenly 
out  of  the  brown  fields  embowered  the  village. 
There  was  a  gleam  of  white  there,  suggesting  a 
comfortable  farm  house.     *'Yes,  the  mud  huts  of 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 


the  villages  nestle  there,  but  the  white  is  the  tem- 
ple, and  no  resting  place  for  weary  tillers  of  the 
soil."  'Twas  thus  an  older  missionary  answered 
her  questionings. 

'  ^  See  that  man  just  scratching  the  surface  of  the 
earth  with  his  plow,"  said  the  irrepressible  new 
missionary  as  they  neared  a  man  with  an  Indian 
plow  made  of  sticks  with  a  small  iron  point. 

Ahead  of  them  lay  the  village  of  Bhauli,  with  its 
two  hundred  mud  and  grass  huts  surrounding  the 
slightly  more  precise  ones  built  about  the  court  of 
the  headman.  A  little  herd  of  brown  children 
flocked  under  the  trees  on  the  edge  of  the  village, 
and  with  large,  dark  eyes  watched  the  approach  of 
the  Mem  Sahibs. 

"Salaam,  Salaam!^'  chorused  the  boys,  for  they 
remembered  the  kind  faces  that  had  smiled  on 
them  in  the  town.  The  three  missionaries,  with 
some  difficulty,  extricated  themselves  from  the  cart 
and  walked  up  the  narrow  roadway  into  the  vil- 
lage and  almost  straight  into  the  headman's  court. 
Several  women  were  seated  about  in  the  sunshine. 
One  was  stirring  something  in  a  large  kettle  over 
a  little  outdoor  fireplace.  Two  young  women  were 
grinding  at  the  mill,  and  another  was  husking  rice 
with  a  long  wooden  pestle.  A  little  girl  was  busily 
grinding  the  spices  for  the  curry  on  a  large  stone 
with  a  smaller  stone  used  for  pounding.  An  old 
woman  was  cutting  up  vegetables  with  a  short 
sickle.     A  little  baby  who  had  been  bathed  and 


10  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

oiled  paraded  his  shining  little  brown  body  in  the 
sunlight,  being  freely  and  airily  attired  in  a  string 
of  beads  and  silvered  anklets.  The  old  woman 
rose  and  said,  ^' Salaam.^ ^  The  younger  women 
drew  their  draperies  shyly  over  their  faces,  for 
modesty  in  India  means  concealing  the  face.  The 
more  experienced  visitor  knew  this  old  woman  was 
the  mother  of  sons  and  these  were  the  daughters- 
in-law  over  whom  she  might  hold  sway,  since  her 
own  years  of  youthful  servitude  had  ended.  Her 
face  was  not  unkindly,  but  marks  were  there  that 
only  the  expectation  of  blankness  coming  on  apace 
^^can  leave  in  the  faces  of  the  old.  She  gave  an  order 
to  two  of  the  young  women,  who  hurried  into  one 
of  the  houses,  their  anklets  jingling  merrily.  They 
soon  reappeared  with  a  small  cot  bare  of  bedding 
and  set  it  in  the  court  as  a  seat  for  the  Mem  Sahibs. 
These  women  had  no  chairs,  but  sat  on  the  ground 
or  on  mats;  and  yet,  with  true  courtesy,  knowing 
that  the  habits  of  the  foreign  people  were  different, 
they  brought  out  the  cot  as  a  seat.  Though  rudely 
made,  with  ropes  woven  across  it,  the  missionaries 
took  their  seats  upon  it  with  a  grateful  acknowl- 
edgment. The  elder  lady  asked  them  concerning 
the  welfare  of  the  family.  The  mother  began  to 
shake  her  head  and  answer  that  one  of  her  sons 
had  gone  on  a  long  pilgrimage  to  Jagannath,  on 
the  far  east  coast  of  India,  and  they  had  not  heard 
from  him  for  many  weeks.  Another  pilgrim  pass- 
ing through  had  seen  him  by  the  way  at  Kashi 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  11 

(Benares).  There  he  had  spent  all  he  had  taken 
with  him  in  the  prescribed  offering  to  the  Brah- 
mins, and  was  planning  to  beg  his  way  to  Jagan- 
nath,  hoping  to  reach  there  for  the  great  festival 
when  the  car  was  drawn  forth. 

''I  haye  no  rest  thinking  of  him,"  said  the  old 
mother.  ''Who  knows  what  has  happened  to  him 
or  whether  with  all  his  pilgrimages  and  fastings 
and  performings  of  puny  a  (acts  of  merit)  he  yet 
lives  or  no  ?  Ah,  if  he  dies  may  it  be  by  the  Ganges 
or  within  the  sacred  enclosure  of  Jagannath,  where 
the  gods  dwell!" 

A  woman  whose  cloth  was  drawn  over  her  face 
began  to  wail.  She  was  the  son's  wife,  perhaps  his 
widow. 

There  was  an  opportunity  for  the  missionaries 
to  speak  of  God's  Son,  who  made  the  pilgrimage 
from  Heaven  to  earth  to  bring  gifts  to  men,  and 
they  tried  to  give  a  message  of  hope  that  would 
reach  even  this  case. 

"It  is  a  true  word  you  are  speaking  to  us,"  said 
the  old  woman,  ''it  seems  good  to  me.  Ask  your 
God  to  bring  him  back. ' ' 

"He  is  our  Father,  and  your  Father,  too.  You 
€an  ask  Him  yourself  and  say,  '  For  Jesus '  sake. '  ' ' 

"Who  is  Jesus?"  she  asked,  and  so  the  conver- 
sation went  on.  They  brought  food  soon,  bread 
and  sweetmeats  and  curds,  and  offered  it  to  the 
ladies.  Bits  of  these  were  accepted,  for  the  women 
had,  taken  trouble  in  preparing  them.     The  mis- 


12  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

sionaries  were  rising  to  go  when  an  old  woman 
clothed  in  a  single  dingy  white  drapery  walked  in 
without  ceremony.  She  was  very  light  in  color 
and  her  skin  was  creased  with  a  thousand  wrinkles. 
She  carried  in  her  hands  a  gourd  drinking  vessel, 
a  long  string  of  wooden  beads,  a  pair  of  tongs,  and 
a  small  roll.  She  was  muttering  to  herself  with  a 
strange  look  in  her  brilliant,  deep-set  eyes.  The 
native  women  at  once  prostrated  themselves,  for 
the  newcomer  had  the  appearance  of  a  priestess. 
She,  however,  curiously  approached  the  Mem 
Sahibs. 

V  ^^Bam,  Ram,"  she  said,  as  such  people  often  say 
the  name  of  that  god  in  greeting,  instead  of  the 
usual  "Salaam.'' 

"Salaam,"  they  answered;  ''where  are  you 
from?" 

"Gunga  Ji,"  (the  Ganges)  she  said,  ''and  I  have 
here,"  patting  her  roll,  "leaves  from  the  temple 
under  the  ground  at  Allahabad,  leaves  which  grew 
in  darkness,  but  will  bring  back  health  to  the  sick. 
I  have  here  charms  of  wonderful  power  which  I 
can  impart  to  you,  even  to  you,  who  have  crossed 
the  black  water.  I  can  help  you  to  the  desire  of 
your  heart." 

"And  are  you  satisfied?"  asked  the  elder  mis- 
sionary. The  women  of  the  household  drew  near 
to  hear  the  reply.  Something  in  the  tone  made 
the  old  pilgrim  pause  in  her  recital.  "Have  you 
lost  your  burden  ? ' ' 


BY  WAYSroES  IN  INDIA.  13 

"Who  are  you,  that  you  ask  me  these  ques- 
tions?" the  pilgrim  answered  in  most  respectful 
form.     "I  am  returning  from  Gunga  Ji.'^ 

''Is  your  heart  at  rest?"  again  questioned  the 
missionary. 

A  look  of  sadness  crept  over  the  old  face  as  she 
said:  "I  lost  everything  I  had.  The  Queen  of 
Chatrapur  gave  me  money  and  a  new  cloth,  and 
now  this  is  all  I  have.  I  made  the  offerings  at 
Kashi,  and  then  I  went  on  to  Jagannath.  There 
the  priests  walked  over  my  body  as  they  did  over 
that  of  other  pilgrims  on  their  way  to  the  temple.  I 
suffered  much  and  I  got  nothing— nothing  at  all ! " 

The  women  of  the  native  household  said,  "Alas, 
alas!" 

"And  my  son!"  exclaimed  the  mother  of  the 
household,  "did  you  meet  my  son,  who  made  a 
pilgrimage  there?" 

' '  There  were  thousands  of  people  going  there.  I 
do  not  know  your  son.  Plenty  were  thin  so  their 
bones  showed,  plenty  were  dying  of  fever,  plenty 
were  in  rags.     I  did  not  know  them." 

"jffm/  Hai!"  wailed  the  young  wife,  "he  is 
dead!" 

"Hush,  woman,  they  were  not  all  dead,"  an- 
swered the  pilgrim. 

"Where  are  you  going  now?"  asked  one  of  the 
missionaries,  her  eyes  full  of  tears. 

"I  am  going  back  to  the  Queen's  palace.  I  was 
her  teacher.     I  taught  her  all  I  knew  from  the 


14  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

Vedas,  but  I  now  have  some  new  spells  to  teach 
her.  I  grew  tired  there  before,  for  the  maids,  oh^ 
the  maids,  they  tossed  their  heads,"  and  the  old 
pilgrim  imitated  them  very  perfectly.  ''They 
were  jealous  and  they  brought  the  laugh  upon  me 
whenever  possible.  They  said,  '  Who  is  this  woman 
that  has  stepped  in  ? '  They  cared  for  nothing  but 
rings,  and  bracelets,  and  jewelry.  I  wear  only 
this,"  and  she  showed  the  iron  band  on  her  arm, 
the  badge  of  widowhood. 

' '  I  thought  there  was  a  king  of  Chatrapur, ' '  said 
one  of  the  missionaries. 

'  ''Oh,  there  was,  but  he  is  a  holy  man  who  spends 
all  his  time  going  from  one  shrine  to  another.  He 
will  try  to  find  amid  the  Himalayas  the  sacred  spot 
where  Gunga  begins  to  flow,  a  drop  from  Heaven. 
He  has  been  gone  many  years  giving  himself  to  the 
worship  of  the  gods.  The  queen  is  very  anxious 
lest  his  brother  seize  the  throne  and  wrest  it  from 
her  eldest  son,  for  whom  she  is  trying  to  hold  it. 
The  king  has  been  gone  so  long  that  the  people  are 
beginning  to  complain,  for  there  is  no  one  to  whom 
to  appeal,  and  they  wish  to  make  his  brother  king. 
The  queen  told  me  to  go  to  Calcutta  and  gain  audi- 
ence of  the  great  lady  who  reigns— the  Viceroy's 
wife— and  ask  her  to  speak  to  His  Excellency 
about  this  matter  of  saving  the  throne  for  the 
king's  son.  But  I  went  to  Jagannath  to  pray  in- 
stead. Who  knows  if  I  should  have  gained  the 
white  queen's  ear?" 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  15 

''And  what  are  you  taking  back  to  your  mis- 
tress?" asked  the  eldest  missionary. 

*'This,"  said  she,  and  she  pulled  from  her  bun- 
dle a  small  idol.  "This  is  a  Sita.  She  will  cause 
Ram  to  bless  the  Queen  of  Chatrapur!  Bam  will 
overcome  the  uncle  even  as  he  did  Bawan,  the  king 
of  rakshas  (demons)  in  Ceylon!" 

**What  will  you  do  if  the  queen  is  not  pleased 
that  you  disobey  her  command?" 

**I  will  tell  her  the  white  queen  sent  me  to  Sita 
because  the  heart  of  the  King  of  Chatrapur  has 
been  stolen  by  the  gods,  and  not  by  men,  and  only 
gods  can  fight  against  the  gods.  Did  not  Bam 
overcome  even  gods?  Sita  will  influence  Bam  to 
fight  against  the  deities  that  are  driving  the  king 
mad,  while  the  white  queen  will  only  influence  the 
Viceroy,  who  worships  not  the  gods  of  Hindustan. ' ' 

*' There  is  hope  for  you,  but  not  in  a  poor  queen 
who  died  centuries  ago.  The  heaven-dwelling 
Father  hears  the  prayers  of  the  distressed.  He  is 
displeased  with  idolatry,  but  He  has  shown  His 
love  to  men  in  that  He  sent  His  Son  to  earth  to  tell 
the  people  how  they  can  find  Him.  The  poor  king 
is  searching  after  God,  but  our  God  dwells  not  in 
stone  or  a  house  made  with  hands." 

The  old  pilgrim  stopped  her  with  an  eager  ex- 
clamation. **That  is  a  new  story;  I  like  it.  I 
found  not  my  heart's  rest  even  in  the  sacred  en- 
closure of  Jagannath!" 

^'Haif  Hai!"  cried  the  mother. 


16  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

''Don't  be  sad.  There  is  hope,  there  is  a  Me- 
diator, there  is  one  to  speak  for  us  to  God,  but  how 
can  sinful  eyes  see  God?  It  says  in  the  Holy 
Book,  'Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall 
see  God.'  "  Then  the  story  of  Christ  and  the  sac- 
rifice followed. 

The  eldest  missionary,  turning  to  the  pilgrim, 
said:  "Take  this  news  back  to  your  queen,  that 
God  is  One,  and  there  is  no  hope  in  gods  of  stone. 
Tell  her  to  appeal  to  the  Political  Agent  of  the 
kingdom  of  Chatrapur.  Tell  him  of  the  plot  and 
let  him  advise  her,  for  he  is  an  Englishman,  and 
knows  how  to  manage  such  affairs.  He  may  be 
able  to  recall  the  king  and  get  him  to  set  his  king- 
dom in  order.  That  is  the  proper  way  to  approach 
the  English  government." 

The  missionaries  again  rose  to  go,  but  the  women 
crowded  about  them.  "We  must  know  more," 
said  the  mother-in-law,  ' '  we  may  forget  your  story, 
for  it  is  a  new  one.    Come  back  next  week." 

"There  are  many  to  hear  the  story,  and  there 
are  few  of  us  to  tell  it,  but  we  will  try  to  come 
again. ' ' 

"I  am  so  glad  I  came,"  said  the  youngest  wom- 
an. "There  are  so  many  people  who  need  this 
Message." 

Though  late  in  the  morning  the  missionaries  de- 
cided to  go  to  Jalalpur,  as  this  was  bazaar  day.  If 
they  could  find  people  who  were  able  to  read,  they 
would  scatter  portions  of  the  Bible  among  them. 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  17 

There  was  a  ride  of  two  miles,  part  of  it  on  the 
military  road,  and  then  they  saw  the  busy  scene 
of  bazaar  day.  All  along  the  street  people  sat  with 
baskets  of  fruit,  vegetables,  and  grains,  while  oth- 
ers had  trinkets  and  bright  cotton  cords  for  tying 
up  the  hair,  or  to  run  in  the  gathered  skirts  worn 
by  Mohammedan  women.  There  were  beads  and 
glass  bracelets  of  many  colors ;  there  were  earrings, 
nose  rings,  toe  rings,  necklaces,  anklets  and  all 
kinds  of  cheap  jewelry.  There  were  little  heaps 
of  bright  bits  of  glass,  used  by  the  women  to  paste 
upon  their  foreheads  for  ornaments;  wooden 
combs,  tin  buttons,  matches,  tiny  looking-glasses, 
and  coarse  thread  wound  on  cards,  to  tempt  the 
passersby.  There  were  bolts  of  cotton  cloth  in 
bright  colors  as  well  as  unbleached  cloth  right  from 
the  loom.  It  had  been  woven  and  colored  there 
in  the  bazaar,  where  it  was  purchased  and  worn 
that  same  day— a  complete  costume  going  on  with- 
out the  stitch  of  a  needle.  Proud  fathers  were 
buying  caps  for  their  little  sons,  who,  but  for  the 
caps,  would  have  been  quite  unclothed.  A  boy 
went  by  eating  a  cucumber,  as  well  satisfied  as  a 
boy  of  a  colder  clime  would  be  with  an  apple.  On 
the  sheet  of  one  vender  were  all  kinds  of  spices  ar- 
ranged with  the  ever-present  garlic. 

Before  the  missionaries  had  descended  from  the 
cart  they  were  surrounded  by  a  motley  crowd  of 
brown  faces.  There  were  farmers  with  dirty  white 
hurt  as   (shirts)    and  draperies,  ungainly  turbans 


18  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

on  their  heads,  and  equally  ungainly  shoes  on  their 
feet;  children,  bright  of  face  and  scant  of  cloth- 
ing; women  with  their  purchases  on  their  heads 
(not  in  hats,  but  in  baskets).  Many  had  children 
two  or  three  years  of  age  astride  their  hips— 
bright-eyed  little  ones  eating  guavas,  turnips,  rad- 
ishes, cucumbers,  or  whatever  pleased  their  youth- 
ful fancies.  A  fakir  with  ashes  in  his  long  matted 
hair  and  streaked  on  his  bare  body,  stood  on  the 
edge  of  the  crowd.  A  nasal  cry  was  heard  and  a 
leper,  with  his  feet  gone,  crawled  near  the  crowd 
stretching  out  a  pitiful  remnant  of  a  hand  for 
alms.  His  hair  was  quite  white  and  his  face  had 
an  indescribable  look  of  gradual  death.  One  of  the 
missionaries  called  to  a  shopkeeper  to  give  him 
some  parched  grain,  paying  for  it  herself  in  pref- 
erence to  giving  the  money  to  the  leper  to  handle 
in  those  wretched,  decaying  hands.  A  woman 
stood  near  with  her  nose  quite  gone. 

**Is  she  also  a  leper?''  was  asked. 

**No;  her  husband  cut  her  nose  off,"  sneered  a 
man  standing  near.  A  woman  who  saw  the  gift 
bestowed  on  the  leper  crowded  her  way  to  the  cart 
to  show  her  broken  fingers. 

^ '  Oh,  what  happened  to  them  ? ' ' 

**I  beat  them  on  the  stones  when  my  husband 
died"— a  man  pushed  her  aside  to  show  a  terrible 
cancer. 

*'0h,  dear;  oh,  dear!"  said  the  youngest  mis- 
sionary, *'I  cannot  endure  this!" 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  19 

*'It  is  much  worse  on  bazaar  days  than  others,'* 
said  another  missionary.  ''The  afflicted  come  then 
to  show  their  misery  and  beg  from  the  people.  We 
will  drive  on  now,  but  first  I  will  ask  if  any  one 
w^ants  a  book?'' 

A  number  wanted  them  for  the  small  sum  of 
one  pice  (one-half  cent)  apiece.  Especially  they 
wanted  a  little  pamphlet  of  Christian  songs.  When 
these  w^ere  sold  they  untangled  themselves  from 
the  crowd  slowly,  so  slowly,  because  of  the  beggars 
and  the  curious.  Two  bright-faced  boys  ran  after 
them  for  song  books,  holding  up  pice  that  had  been 
given  them  for  sweetmeats.  They  went  back  happy 
with  their  new  books.  As  the  missionaries  drove 
out  of  the  bazaar  they  noticed  a  young  woman 
following  them  rapidly.  Outside  the  bazaar  she 
began  to  run.  Before  she  reached  them  they 
stopped  the  cart  because  they  caught  a  glimpse  of 
her  eager,  distressed  face. 

**0h,  take  me  with  you!  I  can  not  stay  here; 
what  will  happen  to  me  if  you  leave  me  here  ?  You 
are  most  kind  and  merciful.  Oh,  give  me  to  as- 
cend into  the  cart  quickly,  quickly,  Mem  Sahih!'* 

Quickly  they  made  room  for  the  slender  figure 
and  she  leaned  over  whispering  to  the  eldest  mis- 
sionary :  ' '  My  husband  died  last  night,  and  we  are 
strangers  here. ' '  Then  she  went  on  in  a  low  tone : 
''His  father's  house  is  far  toward  the  north,  but 
he  came  through  here  on  his  way  to  Benares  to 
find  a  guru  (master)  who  could   tell   him   if   ho 


20  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

might  cross  the  black  water  and  become  a  scholar ; 
and  now  he  is  dead !  No  one  knows  he  is  dead  in 
the  serai  (travelers'  rest  house)  not  far  from  here. 
His  body  must  be  burned  with  proper  ceremonies. 
I  have  jewelry  here  about  my  waist.  I  saw  you 
pass  this  morning  and  I  followed  you.  If  you  do 
not  help  me  I  must  throw  myself  into  a  well  or  die 
some  way.  There  is  no  one  but  the  white  people 
who  would  not  be  glad  to  seize  my  jewels,  and  I 
will  die  of  shame  among  strangers ! ' ' 

*  *  What  emergencies ! ' '  thought  the  younger  mis- 
sionary. 

*'We  can  not  all  go,"  said  the  missionary  to 
whom  the  woman  had  spoken.  She  had  turned  to 
her  companions  and  was  speaking  in  English.  **We 
will  get  another  cart  at  the  next  village  and  you 
must  go  on  home  in  this  one.  I  know  you  want  to 
help,  but  it  is  better  for  fewer  to  go.  It  will  be 
necessary  to  send  Mungli  and  Baldev  to  inform 
the  Tahsildar  (a  civil  officer)  of  the  occurrence." 

When  they  reached  the  serai,  the  elder  woman 
descended  and  with  the  native  woman  peered  in. 
A  young  native  man  lay  dead  on  a  cot.  He  had 
evidently  died  from  cholera.  A  woman  of  the 
sweeper  caste  had  already  arrived  and  a  man  of 
the  same  caste  stood  outside.  That  meant  that 
these  outcaste  people  could  be  called  upon  for  help. 
The  missionary  left  there  never  forgot  that  after- 
nx)on.  Preparations  for  the  burial  were  begun  be- 
fore the  men  who  were  sent  for  arrived.     When 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN   INDIA.  21 

they  came  a  policeman,  sent  by  the  Tahsildar,  was 
with  them.  Thankful  indeed  was  the  faint  and 
weary  missionary  that  the  comfortable  missionary 
tanga  (cart)  was  sent  to  take  her  home.  She  took 
the  wailing  wife  home  with  her.  ''Home,  home,'' 
the  missionary  repeated  to  herself,  "thank  God 
for  a  home  in  this  stranger  land." 

After  a  few  days  the  young  woman  told  her 
story.  *'My  father-in-law  had  two  wives.  My 
husband's  own  mother  was  dead  and  the  women 
of  that  household  were  not  kind  to  me  when  I  went 
there  as  a  child-wife.  My  husband  did  not  knoAV 
how  wicked  they  were  and  I  was  afraid  to  tell, 
they  told  me  such  dreadful  stories.  I  constantly 
feared  the  vengeance  of  the  gods  for  some  of  the 
sins  I  was  told  I  daily  committed.  The  years  went 
on  and  no  children  came  to  me.  Little  boys  and 
girls  played  about  the  household,  but  there  were 
none  of  them  mine.  After  a  pilgrimage  which  my 
husband  took,  and  after  having  made  many  offer- 
ings myself  to  the  gods,  a  tiny  baby  daughter  was 
born  to  us,  but  she  never  breathed.  It  was  better 
so,  but  I  loved  that  little  still  baby  more  than  any- 
thing that  has  ever  come  to  me.  Everybody  but 
my  husband  told  me  it  was  better  that  she  was 
born  dead.  My  husband  was  all  the  time  studying, 
and  he  learned  English  in  the  great  school  in  Cal- 
cutta. At  last  he  told  me  he  wanted  to  go  over  the 
*  black  water'  and  learn  more,  but  his  people  said 
it  could  never  be,  that  it  would  break  his  caste  and 


22  BY  WAYSIDES  IN   INDIA. 

disgrace  them  all.  He  told  me  he  did  not  care  for 
caste  rules.  I  was  very  much  frightened  and  trem- 
bled every  time  I  thought  of  my  husband's  break- 
ing caste.  After  a  while,  when  his  father  died,  he 
became  rich  enough  to  gain  the  desire  of  his  heart, 
and  then  he  told  me  of  this  wise  sage  who  lives  in 
Benares.  YVe  w^ere  going  to  him,  but  we  stopped 
off  at  the  station  nearest  here  to  find  the  temple  of 
Jalalpur,  where  the  light  burns.  My  husband 
asked  every  traveler  we  met  what  they  knew  of  the 
wdse  men  of  each  place,  and  so  he  learned  of  some 
gurus  (masters)  about  here.  Now  I  know  the  gods 
^^V7ere  made  angry  by  his  desire  to  cross  the  black 
waters!  His  tw^o  older  brothers  will  take  all  his 
property,  for  they  will  think  me  the  cause  of  this 
— and  who  knows  but  that  my  sins  have  wrought 
my  widowhood?  I  dare  not  go  back  to  those 
wicked  mothers-in-law  and  the  wives  of  my  hus- 
band's older  brothers.  You  are  kind  to  me  and 
all  my  hope  is  in  you.  My  husband  was  to  get 
money  from  his  uncle  in  Benares.  We  had  sixty 
rupees  (about  twenty  dollars)  and  my  jewels  with 
us.  I  took  the  money  from  him  when  he  was  ill 
and  he  told  me  to  hide  it  in  my  clothes.  I  shall 
never  return  to  my  husband's  family,  and  I  will 
be  only  a  disgrace  to  my  own  people.  I  shall  spend 
my  years  in  pilgrimages,  to  get  rid  of  this  sin 
w^hich  has  caused  my  widowhood. '  * 

**You  must  not  talk  more  of  this,  little  sister, 
for  your  face  is  hot  and  you  tremble  so. ' ' 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  23 

But  the  young  widow  went  on:  "I  talked  with 
him  much  about  consulting  the  gods  and  the  great 
Brahmins.  It  was  to  please  me  that  he  stopped 
here  on  his  way  to  Benares.  The  gods  are  angry 
with  me  when  I  was  true  to  them,  and  so  they  have 
taken  my  husband's  life.  My  people  are  all  dead 
but  my  brother,  and  he  will  fear  my  baneful  in- 
fluence. There  is  nothing  for  me,  a  childless 
widow,  but  death.  You  are  so  kind  and  merciful, 
do  you  not  fear  a  widow  ? ' ' 

' '  You  are  only  to  be  pitied,  not  feared ;  you  may 
live  here  with  Gulabi  Bai  and  we  will  teach  you 
God's  love  and  mercy,"  was  the  reply. 

''Is  Gulabi  Bai  a  Brahmin?" 

*' Gulabi  Bai  is  a  Christian." 

* '  Then  we  can  not  eat  together ! ' ' 

"You  may  cook  your  own  food  and  eat  by  your- 
self, though  God  has  not  separated  His  children, 
as  you  suppose. ' ' 

Later  the  missionary  said  to  her  companion: 
''How  I  thank  our  Father  for  that  allowance  for 
the  help  of  widows,  which  a  dear  Christian  widow 
sent  our  Board.  I  built  the  house  where  Gulabi 
Bai  lives  with  a  part  of  the  money,  and  it  will  be 
such  a  good  refuge  for  this  woman.  I  am  glad  it 
is  ready  this  very  day.  We  will  keep  her  and  teach 
her." 

Ah,  roadsides  in  India  hold  many  stories ! 


Part  II. 

A  BICYCLE  sped  along  the  military  road 
and  the  young  woman  mounted  upon  it 
wore  a  pleasant  smile  on  her  face.  To  be 
sure,  the  face  and  smile  were  almost  obscured  by 
the  shadow  of  a  huge  pith  sun-helmet,  but  she  was 
happy,  and  enjoying  that  feeling  of  freedom  one 
^r  has  when  riding  a  wheel.  She  was  also  looking  for- 
ward to  her  morning  in  the  village.  Before  her 
lay  an  avenue  of  bamboo  waving  airily  in  the  slight 
breeze.  The  shadows  were  most  inviting  on  this 
hot  morning.  A  great  lumbering  cart  drawn  by 
two  oxen  lay  between  her  and  that  shady  bit.  The 
driver  began  to  turn  his  animals  out  of  the  way 
and  was  going  through  a  whole  gymnastic  perform- 
ance in  doing  so,  at  the  same  time  making  strange 
cries  to  the  oxen,  when  the  light  figure  flitted  by. 
He  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  staring  and 
gasping  with  astonishment.  On  she  went  until  she 
saw  a  bowed  form  just  ahead  of  her,  apparently 
the  figure  of  an  old  woman  carrying  a  burden. 
Thinking  she  was  probably  deaf,  the  young  woman 
dismounted  for  fear  the  sudden  passing  might 
frighten  her. 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  25 


*^Aree-h!"  exclaimed  the  old  woman,  dropping 
her  burden. 

The  young  American  spoke  to  her  cheerily. 
**This  is  my  foot-wagon;  do  you  wish  to  see  me 
ride  upon  it  ?  Perhaps  I  am  going  to  your  village. 
What  village  are  you  from?'* 

''Pachkhura." 

**Yes,  that  is  just  the  place  I  am  going.  Are 
there  many  people  in  your  village?" 

**Many,  many  have  died,"  the  old  woman  re- 
sponded; ''the  clouds  give  no  rain  and  though  we 
sow  our  fields  we  get  no  harvest.  Last  night  my 
sister-in-law  died  because  we  could  not  give  her 
the  food  she  needed.  Everybody  will  die,  for  the 
gods  are  angry  with  Hindustan." 

*'Do  you  know  that  the  people  of  Hindustan 
have  long  worshiped  gods  of  wood  and  stone  ?  Lis- 
ten and  I  will  tell  you  the  Truth." 

The  missionary  told  the  old  story  so  new  to  the 
listener,  but  she  saw  in  that  face  a  word  written 
that  only  ''Give  ye  them  to  eat"  could  reach. 
"Famine"  was  certainly  engraved  there. 

"Sister,"  she  said,  "here  are  some  pice;  go  and 
buy  you  something  to  eat." 

The  poor  woman  fell  on  the  ground  with  many- 
expressions  of  abject  gratitude.  ' '  Go  and  get  your 
food,  and  remember  there  is  one  God  who  is  Father 
of  us  all,  and  one  Savior  who  can  save  from  sin." 

On  through  that  fatal  sunshine  the  missionary 


26  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

sped,  when  suddenly  she  saw,  lying  prone  in  the 
dust,  a  small  brown  figure. 

''What  has  happened?"  she  exclaimed  in  Hin- 
dustanee.    The  figure  rolled  over  and  sat  up. 

"I  have  no  one,"  said  the  little  boy,  with  fever- 
ish looking  eyes,  raising  a  trembling  hand  as 
though  in  fear  of  the  strange  person  standing  over 
him.  '*I  came  home  from  the  fields  and  found  my 
parents  dead,  and  I  ran  away.  Now  I  have  no 
one.  I  burn  with  fever,  and  I  have  found  nothing 
to  eat." 

''Can  you  walk?"  asked  the  missionary. 

The  child  staggered  to  his  feet.  "A  little,"  he 
answered,  at  the  same  time  falling  back  into  a 
little  heap  of  brown  again.  "I  am  dying  of 
fever." 

"I  will  get  a  cart  to  take  you  to  a  place  where 
you  shall  have  care."  She  sprang  on  her  wheel 
and  soon  met  the  cart  she  had  passed. 

"Can  you  take  a  boy  to  the  Mission  House?" 
she  asked  the  man  in  the  cart.  "You  have  seen 
the  bungalow  in  the  town?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  driver. 

"You  will  be  paid  for  taking  him." 

"How  much?" 

"You  will  be  paid  for  one-half  day's  work  with 
your  team.  It  is  only  about  a  kos  distant  (two 
miles)." 

The  driver  tarried,  but  finally  decided  to  return 
with  the  boy.     The  missionary  took  a  pencil  and 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  27 

paper  out  of  the  bag  hanging  to  her  wheel  and 
wrote  a  note  which  she  gave  to  the  man,  who 
looked  at  it  most  curiously. 

''Give  this  to  the  3Iem  Sahib  and  she  will  pay 
you  and  take  the  boy. ' ' 

The  cart  went  jogging  back  over  the  road  and 
the  missionary  went  on  to  the  village.  She  looked 
over  the  plain  and  saw  clumps  of  trees,  marking 
the  village  sites.  She  saw  in  imagination  the  white 
towers  of  little  churches.  She  saw  by  the  roadside 
tiny  school-houses,  and  met  merry  brown  children 
with  books  and  slates  going  happily  to  school.  She 
saw  these  in  her  dreams  instead  of  mud  huts,  and 
temples,  and  thin,  naked  figures  suffering  and 
prone  in  the  dust.  Hers  was  a  prophet's  soul  and 
she  saw  possibilities. 

Shortly  she  met  two  men  plodding  along  in  the 
dust.  They  made  funny  village  obeisances  and  she 
was  about  to  pass  on  when  she  recognized  them  as 
two  farmers  whom  the  missionaries  had  once 
helped  to  procure  seed  grain.  Now  they  were 
pausing. 

''You  had  great  mercy  on  us,''  said  the  men, 
*'but  the  gods  had  no  mercy  and  our  fields  are  dry 
as  dust.  Do  you  think  the  Mem  SaJiih  would  lend 
us  rupees  f 

"We  have  few  rupees  and  can  not  lend,"  she  said 
sadly. 

"Are  not  the  Sahih-log  rich  and  could  they  not 
lend  us  a  few  rupees  f 


28  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

*'We  are  not  rich,  but  the  true  God  whom  we 
worship  does  supply  our  needs.  We  hope  to  help 
the  people  of  India,  but  they  follow  gods  who  teach 
them  to  injure  their  bodies  and  spirits,  and  to 
keep  their  country  in  darkness.  Their  teachers 
whom  they  reverence  do  deeds  most  hateful  to  the 
Father  in  Heaven.  How  much  have  you  given 
your  priests  to  bring  rain?  Now  you  are  coming 
to  us  to  give  you  the  money  the  God  you  will  not 
serve  has  given  us  to  save  the  helpless  little  ones. 
Did  you  read  the  book  the  Mem  Sahih  gave  you 
that  day  in  which  she  told  you  were  written  the 
^ words  of  lifer' 

One  man  said  he  could  not  read;  the  other  an- 
swered that  his  guru  (master)  said  it  was  not  good 
for  him  to  read. 

**Ah,  so  you  scorn  God's  word  and  yet  you  ask 
for  His  mercy  and  money  to  buy  grain  for  your 
fields?" 

The  young  missionary  rode  on,  but  her  heart  was 
sore.  **Did  I  do  right,  did  I  speak  right  words? 
Was  I  hasty  and  unjust  ?  More  wisdom,  more  wis- 
dom!" Such  thoughts  went  swiftly  through  her 
brain,  and  prayers  for  help  rose  from  her  heart. 

As  she  neared  the  village  she  saw  a  strange  fig- 
ure standing  near  the  entrance  by  a  grass  house. 
His  skin  looked  like  brown  parchment,  seamed 
and  wrinkled.  His  small  eyes  were  almost  ob- 
scured by  folds  of  skin.  Their  expression  verged 
on  the  idiotic,  but  as  the  missionary  drew  near  he 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  29 

began  to  talk  and  she  soon  discovered  that  this 
creature  was  the  village  doctor,  with  his  bundle  of 
precious  remedies.  There  were  scorpion  stings,  du- 
bious oils,  enchanted  herbs,  and  an  iron  for  burn- 
ing off  eruptions  on  the  skin.  He  was  muttering 
an  incantation  and  she  hastened  by,  only  saying 
Salaam.  Once  within  the  village  she  heard  groan- 
ing and  crying  issuing  from  the  headman's  quar- 
ters. One  of  the  women  of  the  household  had 
thrown  herself  on  a  cot  and  was  crying  out. 

'*What  has  happened?"  inquired  the  visitor. 

"Baribai  was  troubled  much  with  boils  and  the 
haJcim  (doctor)  has  burned  them  off  !'* 

' '  Oh,  I  shall  die ! ' '  screamed  the  poor  woman. 

''He  rubbed  some  spices  on  the  places,"  the  old 
mother-in-law  explained. 

''How  cruel,  how  cruel!"  said  the  missionary, 
feeling  her  eyes  filling  with  tears.  "Bring  me 
some  water  and  some  cotton. ' ' 

Tenderly  she  bathed  the  sores  amidst  the  wom- 
an's cries,  and  washed  out  the  hot  spices  before 
they  could  fester  in  the  dreadful  wounds.  How 
she  wished  she  had  brought  her  bandages,  but 
finally  she  found  some  clean  cloth  and  managed  to 
leave  the  woman  much  more  comfortable.  She  felt 
too  much  exhausted  to  talk  to  them  very  long,  but 
tarried  to  tell  them  how  wrong  the  treatment  had 
been.  Then  she  said,  with  a  bright  smile:  "We 
hope  to  have  a  physician  from  our  country  next 


30  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

cool  season.  Some  one  who  can  help  the  sick  and 
not  treat  them  in  this  cruel  manner." 

*  *  Tell  him  to  come  very  quickly.  Last  night  Ba- 
hadur's  child  died.  She  fell  and  hurt  her  arm. 
It  swelled  and  pained  her,  and  the  bone  came 
through  the  skin,  Mem  Saliib,  and  she  died!" 

*  *  The  poor  child  must  have  broken  her  arm. ' ' 
**Yes,  yes,  and  Matra's  boy  broke  his  leg.     He 

is  very  lame  and  that  leg  is  much  shorter  than  the 
other." 

^'Mem  Sahib,  won't  you  sing  us  a  song?"  asked 
another  one. 

**I  will  sing  to  you  about  the  great  Physician^ 
but  first  I  must  tell  you  of  Him." 

She  told  the  story  of  Christ  on  earth  and  of  His 
miracles  in  healing  the  sick.  "He  has  given  His 
people  skill  in  medicine  and  we  can  always  pray  to 
Him  to  help  us.  In  His  garden  in  Heaven  grow 
leaves  which  are  for  the  healing  of  the  nations. 
He  can  heal  us  from  sin,  which  is  the  worst  of  dis- 
eases." Her  message  was  spoken  and  the  people 
were  invited  to  come  on  Sunday  to  the  church  in 
the  town  to  hear  more. 

Two  miles  distant  was  another  village  where  a 
number  of  lepers  lived.  She  felt  that  she  must  go 
there,  too,  and  tell  those  dying  ones  of  Jesus.  Two 
women  from  the  village  were  coming  down  the 
road  as  she  approached.  They  were  dressed  in 
purplish  cotton  draperies  with  a  wide,  irregular 
border  of  a  lighter  tint.     One  of  them  carried  a 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  31 

year-old  baby  astride  her  hip  and  the  other  bore  a 
basket  on  her  head.  Why  was  it  that  a  mental  pic- 
ture thrust  itself  in  between  the  missionary  and 
this  familiar  scene?  She  saw  in  memory  two 
young  women  coming  down  an  avenue  in  a  far- 
away city.  One  wheeled  a  baby  carriage  along, 
light  and  dainty  in  pink  silk  and  lace.  Beneath  its 
airy  canopy  the  tiny  face  of  a  blue-eyed  baby 
smiled  out  from  soft  embroidered  pillows.  The 
other  young  woman  carried  under  her  arm  a  neat 
package.  The  two  were  conversing  in  soft  tones 
and  their  passing  wafted  a  delicate  violet  fra- 
grance. But  they  were  far  away,  and  the  women 
at  her  side,  staring  stupidly  at  her,  had  never 
touched  lace,  or  heard  in  all  their  lives  the  expres- 
sion of  noble  thoughts.  Yet  their  hearts  were  not 
unloving.  The  one  carrying  her  baby  looked  at 
him  with  pride  when  the  white  woman  said,  ''He 
is  a  fine,  healthy  boy. ' ' 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  visit  ahead  of  her  and  yet 
she  went  on  hoping  to  take  some  cheer  to  the  lepers. 
There  were  some  wretched  grass  huts  on  the  edge 
of  the  village  and  a  creature  stepped  out  of  one 
that  almost  made  the  missionary  wish  to  retreat. 
The  poor  creature  had  both  feet  gone,  eaten  off 
by  the  loathsome  disease  of  leprosy.  His  hair  was 
perfectly  white,  and  his  face  was  swollen  and  dis- 
torted. ''Tell  all  the  lepers  to  come  to  the  tree  by 
the  gate;  I  want  to  talk  with  you."  Ten  people^ 
pitiful  wrecks  of  the  human  body,  gathered  siowly 


32  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

under  the  tree.  **Wliat  a  figure  of  sin,  what  a  fig- 
ure of  sin/^  was  the  undercurrent  of  her  thought. 

*' Listen/'  she  said,  *'next  Sunday  a  Christian 
man  will  bring  you  all  some  rice.  To-day  I  have 
<jome  to  tell  you  that  there  is  hope  for  you,  that 
the  one  God  has  salvation  for  you  also."  They 
listened  and  one  of  them  wept  and  called  his  body 
a  prison.  As  she  rose  to  go  she  saw  on  the  other 
side  of  the  tree  a  stone  with  a  patch  of  red  paint 
upon  it.  It  was  a  village  deity,  to  them  a  deliverer 
from  their  cherished  fear  of  demons.  The  worship 
of  the  majority  of  the  villagers  of  India  is  a  wor- 
sjjip  of  demons,  of  whom  they  live  in  constant  fear 
and  dread. 

Her  thought  ran  on  as  she  turned  homeward. 
This  has  been  my  day  of  seeing  physical  suffering, 
it  seems.  How  closely  connected  is  the  soul  and 
the  body;  but  these  people  do  not  know  that  the 
«oul  has  wings,  that  there  can  be  a  rising  above  the 
prison  life  of  the  earth.  He  came  to  seek  and  to 
save  the  lost.  He  saw  life 's  saddest  side  with  deeply 
seeing  eyes  and  He  is  with  me.  But  it  is  hard  to 
wait  until  these  villages  shall  be  swept  and  gar- 
nished, until  a  doctor  comes  with  relief  for  some 
of  the  suffering,  until  we  have  schools  where  the 
younger  generation  shall  receive  a  daily  incentive 
to  a  higher  life.  She  passed  a  grove  of  trees  by 
a  well,  and  thought  how  glad  she  would  be  to  see 
underneath  those  trees  eager  brown  faces  looking 
into  a  preacher's  face  as  he  read  to  them  in  their 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  33 

own  language  the  words  of  life.  She  thought  how 
she  would  like  to  hear  them  singing,  **  Blest  Be  the 
Tie  that  Binds"  and  ''How  Firm  a  Foundation." 
* '  It  might  be,  it  might  be ! "  ran  through  her  mind 
as  the  wheels  of  her  bicycle  rotated  over  the  brown 
roads.  Her  head  ached  when  she  reached  the  Mis- 
sion Home,  but  she  found  a  cool  resting  place  in 
her  own  room.  She  went  in  feeling  weak  and  al- 
most forgetting  that  she  had  need  of  food.  The 
door  opened  softly  and  the  young  widow  whom 
they  found  by  the  way  in  the  first  village  tour 
slipped  quietly  in  with  a  tray  of  food. 

"I  saved  your  'big  breakfast'  for  you,  Pyari 
(beloved),  and  you  must  eat." 

"How  kind  of  you,  my  sister;  are  you  happy 
here?" 

' '  So  happy  since  I  have  found  a  friend  in  Jesus. 
I  read  some  by  myself  this  morning  about  His 
works  and  I  want  to  go  and  help  you  in  the  vil- 
lages. I  have  thought,  too,  that  I  would  ask  you  to 
send  a  letter  to  my  brother  and  tell  him  of  my  be- 
coming a  Christian.  I  believe  I  should  tell  him. 
They  will  perform  my  funeral  ceremonies,  I  know, 
but  I  dare  not  let  him  go  without  a  message  from 
me  and  my  Savior." 

There  are  joys  waiting  to  be  found  by  India's 
roadsides,  too! 


Part  III. 

THE  village  of  Akoni  contained  thirty-one 
houses  and  two  hundred  and  fifty-one  in- 
habitants. Of  this  number  of  people,  there 
were  one  hundred  and  six  males  and  ninety-five 
females.  Many  a  little  girl  in  that  small  village 
had  been  exposed  or  **let  alone"  to  die.  There 
were  two  Mohammedans.  The  rest  were  Hindus^ 
and  not  one  person  in  the  village  could  read.  The 
missionaries,  in  looking  over  the  Census  Report  for 
their  district,  found  that  in  one  Thana  (a  sub- 
division of  a  district)  there  were  seventy-nine  vil- 
lages. Of  the  eighteen  thousand  male  inhabitants 
of  these  villages,  only  six  hundred  and  fifty  could 
read.  This  was  deplorable  enough,  but  of  the  sev- 
enteen thousand  females  not  one  could  read. 

**I  want  to  change  that  Census  Report, '^  said 
one,  earnestly. 

**If  we  had  a  teacher  and  three  dollars  and  fifty 
cents  a  month,  with— let  us  say— one  dollar  for 
supplies,  we  could  make  a  great  change  in  Akoni, ' ' 
said  the  older  missionary  sadly. 

**We  might  teach  a  young  man  of  that  village 
to  read  and  set  him  to  teaching  his  own  people,  for 
we  certainly  have  no  teacher  to  spare  now.'* 

**But  if  he  is  not  a  Christian,  the  motive  power 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  35 

of  love,  and  the  desire  to  be  honest  and  helpful  to 
others,  would  not  be  there.  He  would  also  observe 
caste  distinctions  in  the  school.  We  need  a  Chris- 
tian man  whom  we  can  oversee.  I  think  we  might 
get  a  Christian  man  and  his  .wife  from  some  old 
school  of  another  mission,  but  that  money — ' ' 

**We  must  do  something  to  evangelize  our  vil- 
lages anyway,  and  I  am  going  tomorrow,"  said 
another. 

Early  the  next  morning  she  went  to  one  of  the 
villages  they  had  not  visited  for  three  months. 
"How  glad  we  are  that  you  have  come  again," 
said  one  woman,  ''but  Amma  (mother)  is  dead. 
She  died  mourning  for  her  son,  who  never  re- 
turned from  Jagannath,  and  his  widow  started  on 
the  same  pilgrimage  last  week.  She  will  try  to  find 
him,  but  we  believe  she  is  a  widow.  Amma  wanted 
to  see  you  very  much  before  she  died.  She  said 
you  spoke  sweet  words." 

How  the  heart  of  the  missionary  sank.  So  many 
were  depending  on  her,  on  one  solitary  woman  of 
limited  strength,  for  every  word  of  Eternal  Life 
and  Hope !  Ah,  they  laid  thick  about  her,  a  thou- 
sand unreached  villages,  and  there  were  only  a 
half  dozen  laborers  with  an  occasional  opportunity 
of  going  out  into  the  vast  and  dying  harvest  field ! 
If  she  had  been  able  to  leave  her  room  last  week 
she  might  have  saved  the  young  wife  from  the  dan- 
gers of  that  pilgrimage,  but  oh,  the  limits !  Bodies 
that  grow  weary  and  faint,  spirits  sickening  at  tho 


36  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

continued  sights  and  sounds  of  idolatry  and  its 
curses.  Money  that  fails  in  the  hand  reached  out 
to  help  the  suffering  and  the  dying.  Limits !  Lim- 
its! The  old  pilgrim  had  come  back  to  find  the 
white  woman  and  hear  more,  but  she  had  not 
waited.  The  queen  had  sent  her  on  another  quest 
for  help  to  Badrinath,  high  up  amid  the  Hima- 
layan snows,  ten  thousand  four  hundred  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  sea.  ''The  old  woman  will  never 
survive  going  from  the  heat  of  the  plains  to  the 
cold  of  that  high  altitude,"  thought  the  mission- 
ary. ' '  They  do  not  wait  for  one  to  come.  They  go 
on  in  their  search  for  a  Hope  and  do  not  wait.  In 
my  home  town  to-day,  with  its  population  of  five 
thousand,  there  are  six  churches,  with  buildings 
and  pastors.  My  share  of  our  parish  here  is  two 
hundred  and  fifty  villages,  a  town  of  twelve  thou- 
sand, and  two  towns  of  five  thousand.  Is  there 
any  use,  is  there  any  use  trying?" 

^'Mem  Sahih,  my  brother  bought  one  of  your 
books  and  he  wants  you  to  come  to  our  house.  He 
is  sick." 

The  young  missionary  turned  to  greet  a  large- 
eyed  child  wrapped  in  his  dhoti  (drapery)  and 
started  with  him  toward  a  mud  house.  On  a  cot 
outside  lay  a  young  man  who  raised  himself  on 
his  elbow. 

*'I  have  read  your  book,  Mem  Sahib.  I  read  it 
before  the  fever  came  and  all  the  time  while  I 
burned  with  fever  I  heard  a  voice  saying:  'Let 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  37 

him  that  is  a-thirst  come !  Let  him  that  is  a-thirst 
come ! '  It  is  in  the  back  of  your  book.  Tell  me  of 
the  One  who  said  these  gracious  words.  I  am  tired 
of  thirst  and  hunger.  I  have  never  been  satisfied. 
My  heart  is  very  weary." 

^'I  will  tell  you  some  more  gracious  words, 
brother.  '  Come  unto  Me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are 
heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.'  There  is 
but  One  who  can  satisfy  us  and  that  One  is  Jesus, 
God's  Only  Son,  His  Only  Incarnation.  He  never 
meant  that  we  should  depend  on  bits  of  wood  and 
stone  and  clay  for  comfort.  The  Father  in  Heaven 
wants  to  comfort  us  and  rest  us  Himself.  He 
wants  us  to  have  faith  in  Him  who  is  above  all 
principalities  and  powers,  and  He  has  given  Him 
a  name  that  is  above  every  name.  Our  God  is 
above  us  and  all  we  can  make.  Do  you  not  believe 
in  Jesus  as  your  Savior?" 

''Yes,  yes;  this  Book  has  taught  me  that  idola- 
try is  a  sin.  I  shall  never  worship  that  stone  yon- 
der again.  I  have  told  no  one,  but  I  wish  you  to 
call  my  people.    I  have  something  to  say  to  them. ' ' 

The  missionary  beckoned  to  the  mother  and 
brother.  The  mother  was  a  widow,  but  there  was 
still  another  son  and  his  wife.  The  wife  of  the 
sick  man  sat  near  with  her  cloth  over  her  face. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  that  stone  yonder  is  only  a 
stone.  I  worship  it  never  more.  I  worship  Him 
who  rules  heaven  and  earth.  I  take  His  Son, 
3"esus,  for  my  Savior." 


38  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

''Alas,  Alas!  the  gods  will  punish  you  and  us, 
for  those  first  words,"  said  the  mother.  ''Worship 
whom  you  will,  but  forsake  not  these ! '  ^ 

With  a  prayer  on  her  lips  the  missionary  turned 
to  the  mother.  "When  you  come  to  the  door  of 
death,  will  you  not  want  something  better  than  the 
hope  of  living  over  and  over  in  some  dying  earthly 
form  ?  There  is  a  better  hope  for  you  and  for  him. 
A  hope  to  live  in  the  mansions  of  God's  own 
house,  to  live  with  the  good  and  pure  eternally.  I 
am  giving  you  God's  Word,  something  higher  than 
man  ever  spake."  Then  she  recited  clearly  in  their 
own  language,  "In  my  Father's  house  are  many 
mansions. ' ' 

"A  good  word,  a  good  word,"  murmured  the 
«ick  man.  "I  never  learned  this  by  the  Ganges. 
I  have  been  troubled,  for  I  refused  to  take  the 
mantar  from  my  guru.''  [The  mantar  is  a  sacred 
formula  whispered  by  the  guru,  or  religious  guide, 
into  the  ear  of  the  devotee,  to  be  kept  as  a  motto. 
It  is  given  specially  to  those  who  are  intending  to 
lead  a  religious  life.]  "I  have  been  told  it  is  very 
unlikely  that  I  shall  be  born  a  human  being  when 
I  leave  this  body,  because  I  refused  to  take  the 
mantar.  I  feared  to  die,  but  now  you  tell  me  sal- 
vation is  through  Jesus  Christ.    Tell  me  more." 

She  sat  there  an  hour  and  talked.  His  people 
crowded  about.  There  was  a  shade  on  the  faces  of 
some,  but  the  young  man's  face  was  full  of  light. 
As  usual,  she  carried  some  medicine  for  fever  with 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  39 

her,  whicli  she  gave  to  him.  Then  she  prayed  with 
him.    As  she  went  away  the  mother  followed  her. 

** Don't  let  him  speak  against  our  gods,"  she 
begged,  '*they  will  curse  us  and  him!" 

She  tried  to  make  it  all  more  clear  to  the  mother, 
but  she  only  shook  her  head,  trying  not  to  Ksten. 

''And  I,"  she  thought,  "was  oppressed  with  all 
remaining  to  be  done,  even  discouraged,  and  God 
led  me  to  a  prepared  soul  this  very  morning.  How 
different  are  their  sick  beds  from  ours !  No  clean, 
inviting  sheets,  no  pillows,  no  crystal  glasses  of  re- 
freshing water.  Nothing  clean,  nothing  dainty.  No 
one  skillful,  no  one  who  knows  how  to  be  really 
kind!  There  that  sick  man  lay  on  sagging  ropes 
woven  across  the  cot  with  a  thin,  dirty  resai  (a 
sort  of  cotton  mattress)  under  him.  The  glaring 
sun  was  upon  him  until  I  told  them  to  change  his 
position.  They  will  probably  move  him  back  again, 
now  I  am  gone.  We  must  get  at  the  root  of  the 
matter.  There  will  be  no  real  change  until  idol- 
atry is  supplanted  by  Christianity.  We  may  try 
to  lop  off  the  effects,  but  the  root  of  the  trouble  re- 
mains. They  need  what  Jesus  teaches  and  they 
must  believe  on  Him."  So  the  missionary  mused 
until  she  came  to  a  bathing  tank,  at  the  edge  of 
which  she  saw  there  was  a  great  excitement. 

"What  has  happened?"  she  questioned. 

"Some  women  were  down  here  bathing,"  said  an 
old  man.  "Mungli's  wife  fell  in  and  a  mehter 
pulled  her  out  just  before  she  was  drowned.    The 


40  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

woman's  husband  is  a  caste  man  and  he  is  going 
to  beat  the  mehter  for  touching  his  wife ! ' ' 

The  missionary  stood  there  aghast,  but  the  old 
man  told  his  story  as  a  mere  commonplace.  A  meh- 
ter is  an  out-caste,  a  scavenger,  but  he  had  saved 
a  woman's  life  and  was  going  to  be  beaten  for  it  I 

* '  You  ungrateful  man.  He  has  saved  your  wife 's 
life.  She  would  be  lying  here  dead  but  for  him. 
You  should  reward  him  with  a  gift!" 

''He  touched  her,"  said  the  man,  stolidly,  but 
he  made  no  further  attempt  to  strike  his  wife's 
rescuer. 

The  mehter  went  off  quietly,  not  stopping  to 
wring  out  his  wet  garments,  seeming  glad  to  es- 
cape the  beating.  The  missionary  passed  on  think- 
ijig  of  the  daily  papers  in  her  home  town.  Such  an 
act  in  their  vicinity  would  call  forth  public  praise 
for  the  citizen  of  such  bravery  and  presence  of 
mind,  and  this  young  man  had  gone  forth  with 
curses  instead  of  blessings.  He  accepted  his  fate^ 
as  he  considered  it.  This  belonged  to  a  set  of  not 
unusual  happenings,  but  the  American  woman  was 
full  of  indignation. 

It  was  growing  very  hot.  She  felt  that  she 
should  not  be  out  in  the  sun  now,  but  she  saw  some 
women  by  a  well  and  felt  constrained  to  speak  to 
them. 

''May  I  tell  you  about  the  Water  of  Life?"  she 
asked. 

The  women  paused.    One  was  just  leaving  with 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  41 

two  jars  of  water,  one  on  top  the  other  on  her  head. 
Another  was  drawing  up  her  jar  from  the  well. 
Others  stood  waiting.  Some  looked  wonderingly 
at  the  Mem  Sahib,  some  stupidly,  but  she  preached 
to  them  the  sermon  of  Jesus  by  the  well. 

''Yes,  yes;  we  need  much  water,"  assented  one 
woman. 

"What  is  there,  after  this  life?"  asked  the  mis- 
sionary, changing  her  plan. 

^^Ko  janef  exclaimed  an  old  woman,  "Who 
knows  ? ' ' 

"You  will  be  born  a  mosquito,  perhaps,"  said  a 
younger  woman,  carefully  brushing  that  insect 
from  her  hand. 

They  lingered  while  she  spoke  to  them.  One 
woman  said  she  wished  her  religion  was  like  that. 
One  said  her  neighbor  had  eaten  some  of  the  offer- 
ings to  Malmdeo  (the  great  god)  and  he  would  be 
a  dog  in  his  next  birth.  That  all  dogs  contained 
the  souls  of  those  who  had  eaten  offerings  belong- 
ing to  Mahadeo.  She  had  never  eaten  any  offer- 
ings, so  she  did  not  know  what  there  was  for  her 
after  death.  Being  a  woman  was  bad  enough  and 
she  showed  the  missionary  two  dreadful  scars  on 
one  limb  below  the  knee. 

' '  How  came  those  ? ' ' 

"My  man  cut  me  there  with  a  rope." 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

'  *  In  your  town.  We  often  see  you  buying  in  the 
bazaar  and  saying  kind  words.    They  sound  sweet 


42  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

and  I  heard  you  sing  a  song  one  day  about  some 
one  who  had  saved  your  life/' 

**Yes,  I  know  the  one  you  mean;  shall  I  sing 
it?'' 

Two  women  now  went  off.  Their  Hindu  sister's 
story  had  reminded  them  that  a  beating  might 
await  them,  too,  if  they  did  not  hasten. 

"Jesus  has  saved  my  life," 

the  song  began,  and  it  told  of  the  World's  Savior. 
The  women  nodded  their  heads  and  the  one  who 
had  spoken  wept. 

*'I  will  try  to  come  to  your  house.  Tell  me 
where  it  is,"  said  the  missionary,  rising  from  the 
well  curb  to  go.  The  woman  explained  the  location 
"^d  the  figures  bearing  the  water  jars  went  in  dif- 
ferent directions  towards  their  abodes. 

The  young  widow,  Anandibai,  was  waiting  for 
the  missionary  when  she  returned.  ^*I  want  to  go 
with  you  to-morrow,  sister.  I  have  read  my  chap- 
ter and  have  my  message.  It  is  the  second  chapter 
of  the  Apostle  Paul's  letter  to  the  Ephesians.  "We 
«an  not  be  saved  by  our  own  works." 

This  same  day  a  letter  came  from  Anandibai 's 
brother.  It  only  said  they  were  worshiping  the 
gods  that  they  might  not  curse  them  on  her  ac- 
count; that  her  father-in-law  and  his  household 
told  the  people  that  she  had  killed  her  husband,  and 
they  would  kill  her  if  she  returned.    The  youngest 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 


43 


of  the  missionaries  took  Anandibai  with  her  into 
her  room  that  first  night  after  this  cruel  letter 
came.  In  the  night  when  she  heard  her  sobbing, 
the  missionary  went  to  her.  The  girl  only  said: 
*' Don't  mind  me,  for  it  will  be  all  right.  I  have 
a  comfort.  Jesus  will  not  forsake  me.'' 
What  a  hope ! 


Part  IV. 

HOW  many  life  messages  we  receive  along^ 
the  way,"  thought  the  missionary,  as  she 
rode  away  the  next  day  with  Anandibai. 
*'If  one  goes  on  to  fuller  living  they  should  not 
ask  to  linger  in  any  way,  however  sweet.  Life  is 
so  full.    One  needs  a  deepened  heart." 

^^Hai,  hai!''  (alas,  alas!)  some  one  was  crying- 
near  by,  and  the  missionary  left  off  her  meditation 
and  touched  life  again,  such  wretched  life.  A  girl 
of  perhaps  eight  years  sat  by  the  dusty  roadside. 
^J  *  Where  are  you  going,  and  what  is  the  matter  ? '  ^ 

**I  have  nowhere  to  go.  I  was  told  to  get  out 
of  my  village,  for  there  is  famine  there." 

* '  Where  is  your  village  ? ' ' 

*' There,"  she  replied,  pointing  to  a  clump  of 
trees  on  the  road  not  far  away. 

* '  Get  in  the  front  of  the  cart  and  I  will  take  you 
back." 

*'They  will  beat  me." 

*  *  Get  in ;  I  will  take  care  of  you. ' ' 

The  child  climbed  in  the  cart  and  crouched  down 
in  a  frightened  manner.  When  they  reached  the 
village  the  missionary  took  her  in  with  her. 

** Whose  child  is  this?"  she  asked  the  headman. 

"She  is  a  weaver's  child,  and  there  is  no  food 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  45 

for  such  as  she  in  this  village.  She  steals  and  bet- 
ter people  than  she  will  die  of  hunger.  She  has  no 
one  but  an  old  aunt  who  is  in  her  son's  house. 
They  do  not  want  the  girl.  Her  marriage  is  ar- 
ranged. ' ' 

"Where  is  her  aunt?" 

' '  Over  there, ' '  the  headman  said,  designating  the 
house. 

An  old  woman  was  bent  over  a  small  loom  in 
front  of  the  hut. 

* '  Is  this  your  neice  ? ' '  asked  the  missionary. 

* '  She  is  none  of  mine !  What  has  she  been  doing 
now?"  grunted  the  old  creature,  looking  curiously 
at  the  foreign  woman  in  the  strange  clothes. 

''I  shall  take  her  to  my  house.  Has  her  mar- 
riage been  made  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  and  it  cost  much,  your  honor,  and  I  shall 
need  that  money.  She  ran  away  from  her  father- 
in-law's  house  and  they  will  take  her  back—" 

"They  beat  me  every  day,"  interrupted  the 
child. 

"People  are  always  complaining  of  her  and  I 
eat  an  oath  that  you  will  have  only  trouble  with 
her." 

"But  I  will  take  her  and  see  if  she  will  not  try 
to  be  a  good  girl.  I  hope  she  will  attend  to  what 
she  is  taught.    Come  with  me,  daughter." 

The  girl  darted  to  the  side  of  her  new  friend 
and  kept  close  to  her  until  they  were  in  the  cart 
asrain. 


46  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

At  the  next  village  they  found  a  wedding  pro- 
cession about  to  start.  The  drumming  and  clang- 
ing of  the  so-called  musical  instruments  was  heard 
before  they  reached  the  town.  When  they  came  to 
the  entrance,  the  missionary  and  Anandibai  were 
invited  within.  There  sat  the  bridegroom,  a  boy 
of  twelve  or  thirteen,  upon  his  temporary  throne. 
About  him  were  Brahmins  and  astronomers, 
chanting,  making  prayers  and  reading  in  their 
books,  hoping  to  find  a  lucky  fate  for  the  bride- 
groom.   No  one  mentioned  the  bride! 

This  young  bridegroom  belonged  to  the  writer 
caste.  The  men  of  this  caste  are  generally  clerks 
or  copyists.  His  forehead  was  marked  with  the 
tika.  Some  turmeric  had  been  ground  to  yellow 
powder  and  was  streaked  upon  his  forehead  and 
then  some  whole  grains  of  rice  were  stuck  on.  These 
are  symbols  of  abundance  of  food.  He  was  dressed 
in  the  wedding  garments,  which  were  mostly  yel- 
low. On  his  head  was  a  huge  yellow  turban.  His 
eyes  stared  from  a  rim  of  lampblack  and  great 
earrings  dangled  from  his  ears.  He  was  supposed 
to  be  in  royal  state,  but  the  child  was  being  pa- 
raded around  as  helpless  as  a  chained  monkey. 
He  was  about  to  start  for  the  bride's  house,  or 
the  house  of  her  father,  in  a  decorated  palanqimi. 
He  would  meet  the  bride's  procession  somewhere 
outside  her  village.  The  boy  bridegroom  looked 
very  much  embarrassed.  The  crowds  about  him 
were  making  extremely  personal  remarks,  flatter- 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  47 

ing  and  joking  him.  The  missionary  stood  look- 
ing at  it  all  as  a  picture.  She  saw  the  procession 
start  with  unmusical  instruments.  She  saw  the 
dancing  girls  and  heard  the  rude  songs.  No  one 
had  time  to  listen,  for  most  of  the  people  were  in 
the  procession.  The  child  wife,  she  was  told,  was 
only  five  years  old.  No  one  thought  pityingly  of 
the  tiny  bride  or  the  gayly  decorated  groom,  who 
were  children  without  choice  in  this  important  mat- 
ter. She  would  probably  receive  no  consider ation^ 
and  he  no  real  companionship  or  sympathy.  It 
seemed  so  much  a  playing  at  life. 

The  missionary  found  an  old  woman  muttering 
under  a  tree  by  the  entrance. 

''They  are  gone,''  said  the  American. 

**Yes,"  the  old  woman  replied  in  a  rude  village 
dialect.  *  *  Let  us  go.  Women  are  so  fickle  and  frail 
that  you  are  never  sure  what  their  lives  will  turn 
out  to  be.'' 

She  said  this  in  the  sing  song  of  a  proverb.  Anan- 
dibai  stood  there,  silent  up  to  this  time.  The  mis- 
sionary looked  at  her  and  found  her  eyes  were  full 
of  tears. 

**  Sister,  I  can  remember  when  a  tiny  girl  of 
riding  out,  borne  aloft,  to  meet  my  husband.  He 
did  not  see  me,  however,  till  we  were  married. 
Few,  few  Hindu  women  go  to  such  a  heart  as  I 
went  to.  Boys  are  taught  proverbs  that  make  them 
so  ignorant  of  woman,  and  these  same  proverbs 
make  women  disbelieve  themselves.     My  husband 


48  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

was  taught  this:  *A  drum,  a  rustic,  a  servant,  a 
woman — all  these  go  on  right  when  struck,'  but 
lie  never  struck  me.  Mine  was  an  unusual  state. 
Our  Vedas  declare  that  woman  is  an  incarnation 
of  sin.  That  bridegroom  just  going  away  in  his 
yellow  wedding  draperies  has  been  carefully  taught 
that  women  are  vain  and  deceitful.  It  makes  me 
weep  for  my  country  since  I  have  known  you  and 
the  good  news  for  women  that  is  in  the  Gospel.  The 
family  that  begins  in  this  play  will  have  no  one 
to  help  them  to  be  good.  Maybe  they  will  start 
out  on  a  vain  pilgrimage  after  salvation  and  knowl- 
edge. Oh,  if  my  husband  could  have  found  be- 
fore he  died  the  salvation  and  other  worldly  wis- 
^dom  I  have  found.'' 

Anandibai  sank  down  by  the  roadside  and  cried 
bitterly. 

The  old  woman  crept  near  her.  '^Hai!  Hai! 
"What  has  happened  T' 

''I  am  a  widow!"     Anandibai  sobbed. 

"See,  woman,"  said  the  old  pilgrim;  ''my  arms 
and  hands  are  bare.  Long  ago  I  had  my  jewels 
torn  from  me.  Long  ago  they  spoke  bitter  words 
to  me,  and  cursed  me.  I  lost  my  bright  draperies 
and  received  this,"  and  she  showed  a  breadth  of 
lier  scant,  dirty  cloth  once  the  widow's  white.  *'I 
went  and  poured  out  my  grief  to  the  fields.  Every- 
body hates  me.  There  I  have  been  burned.  There 
a  housewife  scalded  me  lest  my  shadow  curse  her. 
There  is  where  a  boy  beat  me  for  sport.     Here  is 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  49 

where  I  cut  myself  and  tried  to  bleed  to  death.  I 
have  nothing  but  trouble,  and  now  I  shall  sit  in 
this  village  and  die.  My  house  is  destroyed,  but 
when  a  little  girl  my  wedding  procession  went  out 
this  gate.  I  had  a  bright  cloth  about  me,  and  jew- 
els, and  there  was  feasting,  and  singing,  and  dan- 
cing. Then  I  was  a  wife  and  my  husband  was  some- 
times kind  and  sometimes  hard  and  cruel.  I  have 
been  beaten  many  times,  though  I  gave  him-three 
sons.  The  sons  died  and  he  blamed  me  for  their 
death.  I  am  a  long  time  widowed  and  since  I  saw 
the  smoke  rising  from  his  funeral  pyre  I  have  not 
had  one  kind  word  spoken  to  me.*' 

''Sister,*'  said  Anandibai,  softly,  "there  is  love 
for  such  as  you  and  me.  I,  too,  have  tasted  of  the 
same  sorrow,  but  I  have  found  a  Friend.  My  friend 
is  Jesus,  who  is  God's  only  Son.  He  has  conquered 
death,  and  He  teaches  that  the  sadder  people  are 
the  more  kindly  they  should  be  treated.  In  His 
Gospel  there  is  a  place  for  the  widow  and  the  out- 
caste.  Come  with  us.  I  believe  I  was  allowed  to 
come  to-day  to  guide  you  to  a  better  destiny.  Since 
I  became  a  believer  in  Jesus  I  have  had  no  oppor- 
tunity to  go  about  telling  of  His  love  and  to-day 
I  have  come  to  take  you  as  my  first  gift  to  Him." 

*'I  do  not  understand,"  said  the  old  woman  in 
a  dazed  manner. 

**Come  to  our  house,"  the  missionary  said  to 
her.    **We  do  not  believe  that  widows  are  curses. 


60  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

Anandibai  will  teach  you  and  we  will  give  you 
love/' 

The  old  woman  arose,  saying,  **I  will  get  my 
dish  and  come;''  but  Anandibai  said  they  would 
say  she  stole  the  dish  and  asked  her  to  leave  it  be- 
hind, for  she  would  receive  another  from  her  new 
friends.  They  took  her  into  the  cart  and  drove 
back  to  the  town.  This  was  the  second  widow  in 
a  God-planned  Woman's  Home.  How  different 
were  the  two  women.  One  so  young  and  gentle  and 
good  to  look  upon.  The  other  so  old  and  marred 
and  unhappy  looking.  The  missionary  thanked 
the  Father  that  the  younger  widow  had  been  found 
before  blighting  hands  had  been  laid  heavily  upon 
Jjer.  The  girl  whom  nobody  wanted  sat  in  one  cor- 
ner of  the  cart  with  her  arms  elapsed  over  her 
knees,  drawn  up  into  a  little  bunch.  She  was  go- 
ing to  what  was  to  her  an  unknown  fate,  yet  she 
sat  there  with  no  sign  of  fear.  Perhaps  she  was 
a  philosopher  and  reasoned  that  if  this  life  to  which 
she  was  going  was  miserable,  it  would  be  a  differ- 
ent kind  of  misery,  and  the  change  would  refresh 
her. 

It  was  growing  near  noon  and  the  missionary 
was  thinking  how  much  could  be  crowded  into 
even  a  half  day  of  life.  She  was  thinking  of  her 
childhood  and  of  how  fond  she  was  of  '^ stories." 
Now  almost  every  day  one  or  more  new  earth  life- 
stories  were  told  to  her  in  part,  always  **to  be  con- 
tinued" unless  death  had  said,  **The  end."     As 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  51 

they  drove  on  they  passed  many  a  wayside  shrine. 
Sometimes  it  was  only  a  stone  set  up  under  a  sacred 
tree,  a  shapeless  stone  perhaps,  and  yet  they  called 
it  ''Great  God."  There  was  one  near  them  now, 
and  a  man  was  eagerly  leaving  his  offering  of  co- 
coanuts  there;  a  full-grown  man  with  a  face  not 
at  all  intelligent,  and  one  whose  sacred  cord  told 
that  he  was  a  Brahmin,  of  the  highest  caste  of  the 
Hindus.  Even  he  was  at  this  worship— and  God's 
great,  beautiful  world  bathed  in  sunshine  was  all 
about.  The  lace-like  verdure  of  the  tamarind  and 
bamboo,  mingled  with  the  plumes  of  the  palm.  The 
skies  were  blue,  washed  clear  by  the  rains.  For  a 
moment  they  had  been  so  happy,  just  living  amidst 
all  the  beauty,  and  then  they  saw  this  man  crouched 
before  them  worshiping  a  shapeless  stone. 

*  *  Look  up  !  look  up  ! ' '  the  missionary  cried,  al- 
most involuntarily.  **God  is  not  pleased  that  you 
worship,  instead  of  Him,  a  stone.  Brother,  take 
this  book ;  it  tells  you  of  Him. ' ' 


Part  V. 

THE  dry,  hot  days  were  over  and  the  wet, 
hot  days  had  come.  Then  it  was  hard  to 
go  to  the  villages,  but  the  playing  at  life 
went  on  there.  The  ** rains"  meant  that  there 
would  not  be  famine  the  next  year  and  all  discom- 
fort was  accepted  as  a  fore-runner  of  better  days. 
One  day  two  of  the  missionaries  went  to  a  near  vil- 
lage. The  headman's  son  was  sick  with  cholera. 
The  missionaries  were  too  late  to  help  him,  though 
they  had  remedies  with  them.  The  young  man  was 
in  utter  collapse.  They  tried  heat  and  stimulants, 
Jbut  it  was  too  late. 

**Six  people  died  here  yesterday  of  that  sick- 
ness,'*  said  a  man  of  the  village.  In  the  wailing 
and  crying  over  the  headman's  son  the  hopeless- 
ness of  Hinduism  was  once  more  revealed.  No  one 
had  a  single  word  of  hope  to  speak.  He  was  dead, 
and  perhaps  even  now  was  a  dumb  animal  or  a 
crawling  insect.  At  best  he  belonged  to  others, 
never  to  them  again. 

Again  they  told  the  story  of  the  Eesurrection 
and  the  Life.  *'0h,  this  dying  country!"  one 
exclaimed  as  they  left.  '*No,  they  do  not  wait  for 
us.  They  do  not  wait  for  all  to  be  set  in  order  in 
the  homeland.  Long  have  we  delayed.  Foreign- 
ers are  sweeping  into  our  home  country.  The  non- 
Christians  are  going  in  hordes  to  take  advantage 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  53 

of  the  prosperity  of  our  Christian  nation.  The 
home-people  can  not  live  apart  from  the  alien, 
the  atheist  and  the  heathen.  How  much  better 
did  they  send  those  to  teach  them  in  their  natural 
habitat !  I  am  so  weary  of  finding  superstition 
and  absurd  reasoning  everywhere  and  people  be- 
lieving a  lie."  The  elder  missionary  spoke  these 
words  with  deep  feeling  and  tears  were  in  her 
voice. 

"It  is  harder  to  bear  when  one  has  a  headache 
as  well  as  a  heartache,"  said  the  other.  ''You  are 
not  physically  well  to-day  and  we  are  going  home. 
Think  that  Anandibai  waits  us  there ;  that  the  poor 
old  widow  has  a  word  of  love  and  kindness  spoken 
to  her  to-day;  that  little  children  are  learning  a 
"new  song"  to  sing  to  their  people  when  our  voices 
are  silent  here.  Think,  dear  one,  that  though  mil- 
lions lie  off  there  in  that  cloudy  east  without  a 
helper,  we  are  training  helpers  to  go  to  them.  No 
day  passes  without  an  opportunity  to  tell  of  God's 
love  to  men,  and  you  help  us  all.  Think  of  the 
sisters  in  the  homeland  who  are  praying  for  us 
now,  and  who  are  working  to  send  forth  more  la- 
borers into  this  great  harvest  field. ' ' 

"Yes,  it  all  comforts  me.  I  am  troubled  with 
headache  these  days.  I  think  these  bodies  have  such 
a  great  deal  to  do  with  the  soul  life  after  all.  I  do 
pray  to  rise  above  the  physical,  but  it  conquers 
sometimes." 

Outside  the  village  the  people  were  gathering 


54  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

to  appease  the  silent  power  which  was  working  in 
their  midst  bringing  death  so  soon— Haija,  the 
swiftly  coming,  destructive  cholera.  No  one  would 
take  the  name  of  the  disease  upon  his  lips.  It  is  a 
sickness  to  them  most  mysterious  and  most  feared. 
The  missionaries  stopped  to  tell  the  men  about 
some  sanitary  precautions  and  went  on  to  another 
village. 

"What  a  difference  between  that  boy's  death  and 
Hira  Lai 's !  Do  you  remember  that  dear  Christian 
boy 's  last  request,  that  on  his  grave  should  be  writ- 
ten, *  Not  lost,  but  gone  to  his  Lover '  ? "  Thus  they 
conversed  together  until  they  came  to  the  next 
group  of  houses.  They  stopped  by  a  tiny  grass 
house,  where  a  potter's  family  lived,  who  made 
their  water  jars.  The  family  was  all  out  of  doors 
and  regarding  them  wonderingly. 

"Will  you  bring  us  some  more  water  jars?" 
asked  one  of  the  missionaries. 

"Yes,  your  honor;  I  will  bring  them  on  bazaar 
day." 

Just  then  a  cry  rang  out.    "What  is  that?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  Mem  Sahib.  It  is  only  the  Kach- 
erin's  new  daughter-in-law.  She  is  a  very  bad 
child." 

"Where  do  they  live?" 

' '  Back  of  my  house, ' '  said  the  man. 

They  went  there  quickly  and  found  a  woman  of 
middle  age  meting  out  punishment  to  a  girl  of  ten. 
A  young  man  was  holding  the  girl  and  his  mother 


BY  WxVYSIDES  IN   INDIA.  55 

was  deliberately  pinching  her  cheeks  all  over,  while 
the  child  was  helplessly  screaming. 

''Stop  that!"  exclaimed  the  elderly  missionary 
emphatically.  Both  the  tormentors  loosed  their 
hold  and  sprang  up  in  fear  and  surprise,  and  both 
started  to  run.  ''Wait,"  said  the  same  mission- 
ary, "why  were  you  doing  this?" 

' '  She  is  lazy  and  ran  away, ' '  said  the  old  woman. 

"And  she  does  not  cook  my  food  properly,"  add- 
ed the  young  man. 

The  child  was  sobbing  and  her  face  was  already 
swelling  from  the  bruises. 

"Is  there  a  policeman  here?  You  need  to  be 
put  in  the  jail-khana  (prison),  both  of  you. 

They  both  looked  frightened  and  then  they 
begged  her  not  to  let  the  Sirhar  (government)  pun- 
ish them.  They  had  never  seen  the  missionaries 
and  so  thought  that  they  were  connected  with  the 
governing  spirit. 

' '  Such  cruelty  should  be  reported  to  the  govern- 
ment.   I  shall  take  your  names,"  was  the  answer. 

They  then  started  towards  the  headman's  house. 

"Has  your  sister-in-law  come  back  from  her 
search  for  her  husband?"  was  the  first  question 
asked. 

"No,  no,"  they  said,  sadly.  "They  are  both 
dead,  we  believe.  No  message  comes  from  them. 
Our  father-in-law  has  taken  another  wife  since 
Amma  died.  She  is  a  young  woman  and  is  very 
hard,  and  has  a  bitter  tongue.    She  is  within  put- 


56  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

ting  on  her  jewelry  to  show  you.  She  came  from 
a  distant  village.'' 

A  young  woman  soon  emerged  brightly  dressed, 
with  nose  rings,  toe  rings,  earrings  and  finger  rings. 
She  evidently  felt  her  position.  She  had  no  moth- 
er-in-law and  was  herself  filling  that  place.  She 
said  she  was  from  a  village  belonging  to  a  native 
king;  that  her  father  was  rich,  and  her  wedding 
was  very  grand.  She  enumerated  the  amount  of 
rice  and  sugar  and  sweetmeats  that  had  been  used 
on  that  occasion.  She  was  to  have  been  this  head- 
man's wife  even  had  the  old  woman  not  died.  So 
she  rattled  on  until  one  of  the  missionaries  asked : 
*'Has  your  husband  still  other  wives?" 

**0h,  no;  he  has  no  other;  he  will  never  have 
another  while  I  live.  The  old  woman  was  very 
tiresome  and  her  tongue  was  bitter." 

The  daughters-in-law  sat  there  looking  morose 
and  were  quite  silent.  The  younger  missionary 
opened  her  Hindi  hymn  book  and  began  singing 
a  song  of  which  the  refrain  is,  *'A11  days  do  not 
pass  the  same,  sometimes  there  is  sunshine  and 
sometimes  shadow." 

One  stanza  may  be  thus  translated : 

"As  the  clouds  go  from  color  to  color. 

So  the  world  goes  on  in  its  change, 
The  king  and  the  subject,  the  rich  and  the  beggar. 

One  by  one  pass  out  of  this  range!" 

This  led  them  to  talk  of  things  eternal,  for 
surely  all  seemed  so  transitory  there.    The  months. 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  57 

yes,  even  the  days,  were  full  of  change.  The  two 
missionaries  now  turned  homeward,  as  ever  feeling 
glad  for  the  refuge.  It  had  been  a  long  day  of  hard 
work.  To  sympathize,  to  suffer  with  the  suffering, 
means  to  give  out  one's  energy. 

The  next  day  the  younger  missionary  felt  she 
must  go  back  to  the  village  and  see  how  the  cholera- 
stricken  people  were.  She  promised  the  others  not 
to  go  within,  only  to  leave  medicine  at  the  gate. 
This  promise  she  fulfilled.  Ten  others  had  died 
in  the  night.  She  called  a  young  man  she  knew 
and  carefully  instructed  him  as  to  the  medicine, 
which  was  very  powerful.  She  was  not  gone  long, 
but  when  she  returned  as  far  as  the  gate  of  the  mis- 
sion grounds  she  felt  that  something  unusual  was 
occurring.  Anandabai  ran  out  of  the  house  with 
her  garments  disarranged  and  her  face  agonized, 
*  *  Sister  jee,  the  big  sister  jee  is  sick  and  we  believe 
it  is—haija!'' 

"Cholera  and  her!"  was  the  thought  that 
flashed  through  the  young  missionary's  mind.  She 
had  not  been  well  yesterday  and  they  had  gone 
unknowingly  into  the  cholera-stricken  village.  She 
was  tired  out  at  the  end  of  the  hot  season — ^was 
she  to  find  her  rest  now?  She  tried  to  quiet  her 
trembling  lips  and  hands.  **  Father,  give  me 
strength  and  calmness,  for  ^Tesus*  sake!"  The 
oft-repeated  prayer  came  naturally  and  its  influ- 
ences, no.  His  influence,  nestled  in  her  heart.  Then 
she  saw  one  of  the  dear  missionary  sisters  carry- 


58  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

ing  a  hot  water  bag  into  the  room,  and  she  knew 
that  the  sick  one  was  cold.  Oh,  that  dreadful  chill ! 
She  softly  opened  the  bedroom  door  and  crept  in. 

*' Little  sister,  I  seem  to  know  now  how  the  peo- 
ple feel.  Think  of  feeling  your  strength  slipping 
away  and  no  one  to  help,  no  one  to  give  you  cour- 
age. No  Father  in  Heaven  to  pray  to,  no  Jesus 
on  this  side,  at  the  edge  of  the  valley,  to  go  all  the 
way  through  it  with  you !  Oh,  I  seem  to  know  how 
dark  the  other  side,  the  one  they  know,  must  be, 
from  knowing  how  light  is  this  side!  I  know  as 
never  before  how  India's  poor,  ignorant  people 
must  suffer,  not  only  from  what  they  have,  but  from 
what  they  have  not!"  With  what  emphasis  the 
sick  woman  spoke. 

^^Dear  one,  you  are  not  to  feel  these  things  now. 
You  are  to  get  warm  and  well.  See,  Anandibai  is 
bringing  a  good  kunda  of  coals.  You  shall  have  it 
right  here.    Does  it  not  feel  good  ? ' ' 

The  eager  voice  was  silent  and  the  eyes  closed. 
Now  she  is  speaking  again.  *^I  feel  no  pain  now. 
I  am  glad  that  is  over.  Sister,  those  people  in  the 
village  can  not  think  that  there  is  brightness  and 
greenness  after  while,  that  trees  are  waving  whose 
leaves  are  for  healing,  that  there  is  a  Son  of  Right- 
eousness who  can  bring  warmth  and  comfort,  when 
the  chill  is  so  dreadful.  Tell  Anandibai,  whom  we 
found  by  the  wayside,  that  she  is  to  be  a  messen- 
ger to  those  without  hope  when  the  river  is  chill. 
You  know  the  one  we  sing  about  in  girja  (church)  — - 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  59 

^'Gahriri  wah  nadiya,  nawa  purani — '' 

*'Yes,  dear,  *the  river  is  deep  and  the  boat  is 
old,  but  Jesus  will  take  me  across.'  You  have 
taught  a  great  many  people  to  sing  that.  You  are 
to  teach  many  more,  we  trust.  Aren't  you  get- 
ting warmer?" 

"  It  is  very  cold,  little  sister.  I  wish  the  sun  was 
shining.    It  seems  so  dark— ' ' 

Oh,  was  she  to  go  after  all !  The  other  mission- 
aries came  in  and  spoke  to  her. 

**I  can  not  see  you,  but  when  I  can  see,  I  shall 
^see  Him  as  He  is.'  Tell  the  people— oh,  tell  the 
people  so  they  will  have  comfort  when  the  river 
is  deep  and  cold.  Bodies  are  poor  things.  I  am 
so  weak.'*  She  said  no  more  but  to  murmur  the 
Hindi  work  for  Jesns—Yisu,  Yisu. 

The  tropical  sun  was  shining  without,  bright 
and  warm  over  a  steaming  earth,  for  it  was  not 
late  in  the  rainy  season.  So  much  warmth  with- 
out and  her  busy  hand  so  cold  and  still.  '^Bodies 
are  poor  things ! ' '  But  the  soul 's  influence  was  to 
live.  It  was  to  live  not  only  in  a  land  over  many 
seas,  but  in  dark,  obscure  corners,  that  no  one  much 
<>ared  about.  In  poor  little  villages  by  India's 
waysides.  Miserable  lepers,  dying  slowly,  would 
remember  that  a  strange  Mem  Sahib  had  come  and 
told  them  that  the  soul  could  escape  and  go  to 
God.  Widows  would  cherish  through  many  a 
weary  day  the  memory  of  a  kind-voiced  woman 
who  told  them  there  was  love  for  such  as  them- 


60  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

selves,  that  God  loved  suffering  ones  the  more 
tenderly.  Many  women  living  narrow,  narrow 
lives  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  freedom  that  might 
be  theirs  in  God's  kingdom  through  her  words. 
Men  had  been  told  the  truth  that  was  able  to  make 
them  free.  Little  children,  yes,  many  a  little  child, 
had  been  taught  sweet  songs  by  her  lips.  She  was 
not  forty  years  old,  but  she  had  lived  long,  and 
well,  and  she  was  weary.  She  did  not  live  to  see 
her  work  fall  from  a  nerveless  hand,  to  feel  that 
everything  was  growing  and  she  but  a  withered 
bough ;  that  all  were  passing  by  while  she  sat  idle 
in  the  race. 

Those  who  had  to  hurry  her  body  to  the  grave 
where  so  few  English  names  ever  had  been  or  ever 
would  be  inscribed  could  not  but  think  of  the 
morrow  and  this  new  empty  place  they  must  try 
to  fill. 

The  young  widow  from  out  India's  despised 
class  was  the  one  to  say  to  them :  *  *  She  is  absent 
from  the  body.  I  feel  that  she  is  not  absent  from 
the  work,  because  Jesus  is  here  and  she  is  present 
with  Him.  I  thought  and  thought  about  it  last 
night.  Don't  you  believe  she  can  get  closer  to  us- 
than  when  her  soul  was  in  the  body  ?  Perhaps  she 
will  help  get  our  mansions  ready,  for  she  knows 
what  we  all  like.  Don't  you  remember  the  time 
she,  with  her  own  hands,  freshened  up  all  your 
rooms  when  you  were  gone?  I  remember  she  put 
your  favorite  flowers  in  your  rooms." 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  61 

It  was  a  comfort  to  hear  Anandibai  talk  of  such 
things  so  naturally,  and  we  went  back  to  work  feel- 
ing that  in  some  sweet,  unseen  way  her  hand  was 
helping. 

The  old  widow  seemed  to  mourn  over  the  going 
most  of  all.  The  next  Christmas  day  they  found 
a  few  common  flowers  tied  together  with  grass,  on 
the  table  where  the  ''absent"  sister's  plate  had 
been,  and  there  were  some  bright  glass  bangles 
under  the  plate. 

''Whose  gift  is  this?''  one  asked  brightly. 

One  of  the  natives  of  the  household  answered  in 
an  awed  tone :  "  It  is  for  the  big  sister.  The  old 
widow  left  it  for  her  Christmas  gift ! ' ' 

They  called  the  old  woman  and  told  her  that  the 
dear  one  who  had  gone,  now  had  the  glory  and 
brightness  of  heaven,  and  that  she  would  want 
them  to  give  what  they  had  to  give,  to  the  poor 
and  neglected  here.  They  told  her  that  Jesus  said 
when  we  have  done  it  unto  the  least  of  these  we 
have  done  it  unto  Him. 

"Then  I  know,"  she  said,  "I  will  give  them  to 
the  sweeper  woman;  none  of  the  people  like  her 
very  well.    I  think  she  is  the  'least.'  " 

A  "Thank  you"  went  up  to  the  Father  that 
«ven  this  poor,  ignorant  old  woman  understood. 

The  youngest  missionary  once  said  that  some 
of  the  sweet  surprises  that  blossomed  by  the  way 
seemed  to  her  to  be  flowers  from  seed  the  sister  who 
was  "absent"  had  planted.     In  the  village  where 


62  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

she  had  gone  most  often  a  school  was  started,  and 
to  those  in  the  mission  it  was  always  a  memorial 
of  the  absent  one. 

The  old  pilgrim  never  came  back.  Very  proba- 
bly she  died  in  her  attempt  to  reach  the  Himala- 
yan shrine.  Neither  did  the  young  wife  who  went 
to  find  her  husband  ever  return.  They  are  among 
India's  unfound  ones.  Every  year  strangers  die 
by  the  Ganges,  and  in  the  crowded  places  of  pil- 
grimage, but  the  great,  longing  multitudes  surge 
on — India's  millions!  And  what  will  change  In- 
dia ?  Not  our  inventions,  for  side  by  side  with  the 
newspaper  stands  in  the  railway  stations  is  anoth- 
er, where  idols  and  the  paraphernalia  of  worship 
gjre  for  sale.  The  locomotive  engines  bear  thou- 
sands and  tens  of  thousands  of  pilgrims  to  Baidy- 
nath,  Jagannath,  Allahabad  and  Benares,  where 
the  travelers  bow  down  to  idols  of  wood  and  stone 
and  brass.  The  telegraph  bears  messages  by  its 
current  that  are  strange  to  Christian  civilization. 
A  man  with  poo j ah  (worship  marks)  in  his  fore- 
head, even  'Hhe  mark  of  the  beast,''  may  take  from 
his  pocket  a  Waterbury  watch  to  see  if  it  is  do 
pahar  (the  second  watch,  or  noon).  India's  kings 
will  yet  be  using,  if  they  do  not  already,  the  auto- 
mobile to  expedite  their  pilgrimages  to  inland  and 
remote  shrines.  Something  within  must  work  the 
change  without.  Better  to  give  them  belief  in  the 
Bible  than  the  training  of  the  civil  engineer.  When 
once  they  are  true  Christians,  other  learning  must 


BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA.  63 

come  naturally.  They  will  want  to  be,  and  do,  and 
know.  The  impulse,  the  power  will  be  there  and 
it  will  go  on  when  the  hands  that  wrought  through 
it  are  folded  and  cold. 

Our  day  is  short.  Our  time  here,  *  *  a  little  while. ' ' 
"We  can  not  reach  out  the  helping  hand  very  much 
longer,  and  the  millions  by  the  wayside  do  not  wait. 
See  them  passing  by.  The  coolie  with  the  dulled 
face.  The  leper  with  "the  image"  almost  lost. 
The  widow  with  scarred  body.  The  frightened  lit- 
tle orphan  child.  The  naked  "holy  man."  The 
priest  with  his  poojah  marks.  The  burden  bearer* 
with  loads  upon  their  heads.  The  haughty  Brah- 
min with  his  scroll.  The  out-caste  hastening  from 
the  beaten  footpaths  lest  his  shadow  offend.  The 
beggar  who  cries  in  every  public  place.  The  dan- 
cing woman  with  unholy  glance.  The  aged  man 
or  woman  with  hopeless  eyes.  The  sepoy  in  his 
regimentals.  The  Mohammedan  official  in  English 
garments,  with  the  exception  of  his  great  turban. 
The  fakir  of  the  same  class  in  his  yellow  robe.  The 
representatives  of  many  divisions  and  sub-divi- 
sions of  caste.  See  them  pass  by,  and  think  how 
short  is  their  time.  Think  of  villages  once  swarm- 
ing with  life,  now  but  a  sepulcher  from  plague- 
and  famine.    Shall  we  wait  ? 

The  Transforming  Message  is  ours,  the  educa- 
tion is  ours,  and  the  patient  working  together  in 
systematic  giving  will  bring  victory.  To  lie  down 
at  night  knowing  that  we  have  sent  a  portion  of 


64  BY  WAYSIDES  IN  INDIA. 

ourselves  and  of  our  effort  to  take  the  Gospel  of 
Light,  Life  and  Love  to  dark,  neglected  corners, 
must  make  our  rest  sweeter,  our  awakening  more 
joyous,  and  our  hope  more  real. 

Sisters,  *' bodies  are  poor  things."  They  fall  be- 
neath the  tropical  sun.  They  fail  in  the  dear  land 
of  homes.  We  need  to  hasten  before  the  soul  es- 
capes, before  our  *' little  while''  is  merged  into  His 
eternity,  and  before  their  *' little  while''  flickers 
^out  in  awful  fear  and  doubt. 

Ah,  while  we  wait 
Sad  millions  pass  into  the  night, 
We  can  not  hear  the  children  cry 
"When  ours  are  laughing  in  the  light! 
And  so  we  wait 
V       While  all  the  wretched,  weary  years 

The  out-caste  trembles  by  unyielding  gates 

The  victim  of  a  thousand  fears. 

And  still  we  wait — 

And  still  the  hopeless,  close  sad  eyes; 

The  mothers  are  not  comforted 

For  days  and  nights  are  rent  with  cries! 

And  shall  we  wait 

Until  the  last  soul  hurries  out 

To  darkness  and  long-dreaded  death, 

Tormented  by  ancestral  doubt? 

Ah,  can  we  wait 

And  find  sweet  resting  when  our  day  is  done 

And  know  those  sighing  millions  go 

Without  one  hope  at  set  of  sun? 


If 


hdi. 


(2j).  YC  42998 


fvi30S453 


